A Call to Arms
by Cheryl W
Summary: Total AU.  The Winchester Family Business is private investigation and Cas is a detective that works for them. With Dean's life in jeopardy, Sam comes home from Stanford to help solve the case before he, Dean, and Cas are all put to rest. No slash.
1. Chapter 1: No News is Still Bad News

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: If you don't like AU, then this story is not for you. In this universe, the Winchester family business is a detective agency and Cas is a detective that works for them. Since Cas isn't an angel, my version of him will come across as traits from angel Cas and the version you saw of him in "The End", snarky, just like the boys. I've always wanted to show the loyal camaraderie between Dean and Cas and how Sam probably struggled to fit in with those dynamics. This was my crazy attempt at that plot bunny.

Summary: Total AU. The Winchester Family Business is private investigation and Cas is a detective that works for them. With Dean's life in jeopardy, Sam comes home from Stanford to help solve the case before he, Dean, and Cas are all put to rest. Permanently. Angsy/brotherly conflict/Sap alert. No slash.

Chapter 1: No News is Still Bad News

Sam Winchester wasn't much of a drinker, wasn't even much of a social drinker. But everybody had to pay their social dues once in a while. Today, he was paying his. Big time. He didn't follow the sports games either but when you were in a relationship, you had to say yes even when you meant no, which was how he found himself at some lame superbowl party nursing a beer and praying that his girlfriend, Jessica, soon tired of hearing the latest Stanford college gossip.

He wasn't even watching the game, had brought a book, was reading in some corner of the room, looking up, once and awhile when the crowd booed, screamed encouragements to the football players or hooted with victory. Honestly, he didn't know what caught his attention, the word "Kansas" "Attempted Murder" or "Private Investigator" but his head snapped up and his eyes flew to the TV where a news blip was being slipped into the commercial break.

"It seems that the evidence is piling up that weapon manufacturing company, Kenvert's CEO, Harry Mason's death may not have been a suicide. The private investigator hired by Mason's family to look into the CEO's death was shot tonight in his office. We spoke a little to an associate of the Winchester Investigations agency.

Sam was on his feet without registering it, was stumbling forward toward the TV, breath raggedly leaving his chest. Felt himself _praying_ that he'd see Dean next on the screen, that the person shot wasn't his brother. But the face that appeared wasn't Dean's, was some dark haired man that Sam had never seen before.

"Mr. Angelo, can you tell us the evidence Mr. Winchester has gathered to support the belief that Mr. Harry Mason's death was not a suicide?" the blonde reporter asked before she thrust a microphone in front of the man's face.

"We are not releasing any information at this time," the man nearly growled, pushing the microphone away.

But the reporter was persistent, stepped into his path. "Can you tell us Mr. Winchester's medical status?"

"Alive," the man gruffly barked, eyes flashing with a warning.

A warning that the reporter didn't heed. "Now that Mr. Dean Winchester is out of commission, will John Winchester, the owner of your agency be taking over the case or will you be handling it alone?

The man's jaw clenched and he leveled the report and subsequently the camera with a glare, "Our _agency_ will finish our investigation," and then he shoved the reporter, camera and camera man aside and strode across the street…to a black car that was so familiar to Sam that it actually physically hurt to see it.

One of the football fans in the room hooted, "Come on, stow the news and put the game back on"

"Shut up!" Sam roared, stepping in front of the tv, didn't want anything in his way to see whatever they showed him next.

Looking a little flustered, the reporter reappeared on the screen. "As you can see, our attempts to gather information from the investigators or Mr. Mason's family have not been successful, leaving us to wonder how this startling development will play out as the police continue to rule Mr. Mason's death a suicide. Now back to you Katie."

Stumbling back a step, it took Sam a moment to realize the clip was done, that that was all they were going to say about his friggin' brother getting shot! That thirty seconds was all the time an attempt on his brother's life warranted.

Sam jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. Turning, he found Jessica worriedly staring at him. "Sam, what's…"

It was enough to snap him out of his stupor. "I gotta go," he breathlessly stated, sidestepping her and using his long legs to make quick work of the distance to the front door.

"Whoa, Sam. Go where?" Jessica called at his back.

"Kansas," Sam lobbed back but inside another word bubbled to the surface '_Home_.' He was going home and God help him if his brother was gone before he got there.

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TBC

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So how'd you like the teaser? I needed to see if I have any takers for another wacked out AU from me. But depending on the encouragement you guys give me for the story, I might be persuaded to post the next part in a day or two.

I know, I know, some of you are saying, there I am off again on another AU tangent. They probably have therapy for disorders like mine….but who wants to be cured of something that's so much fun!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2: Your Brother's Friend

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Wow! I am overwhelmed by the interest in this story! Thanks for all the encouragement! I hope you like how the story progresses.

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Chapter 2: Your Brother's Friend ain't no Friend of Yours

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Sam slammed his cell phone down on the airport restaurant's table. The trouble with cutting yourself off from your family for four years in the tech savvy world of today was that everyone's phone numbers changed every two years along with their phone plan. Not a single number he had for his father or brother worked, not even the detective agency line.

It wasn't great that he had to resort to the world wide web to find out how to contact his own family. And even then there were road blocks. Like their investigative agency name not coming up. Typing in "Winchester and Sons", he got hits of companies where some _other _Winchester and Sons toiled merrily side by side, like a plumbing company and a sportsmen's shop.

Running a hand through his hair, he tried to calm down, checked his phone for the tenth time for messages. And he wasn't sure if he was relieved or sick when there were none. No messages telling him that his brother had been shot or that his brother was in the hospital…or something far worse, that his brother was dead. _'Shut up. He's fine, He's __**Dean**_!' Forcibly shutting out the worry, he exhaled and decided to punch in the name the reporter had given for his family's ageny: Winchester Investigations.

Instantly the screen filled with site after site about his family's business, the business he had walked out on, had told his father he wasn't ever going to be part of. The business his older brother lived for.

'_And maybe died for_.' Fisting his hand, Sam wished that he could turn off the little voice in his head that had absolutely nothing good to say.

Among the sites was news article after news article about his brother's shooting and one labeled Dean's condition as "stable". But Sam knew that was simply reporter talk for '_no one will tell us anything_'. Nestled in with the nonsensical was one helpful fact: The name of the hospital that Dean had been taken to.

Sam made quick work of finding the phone number of the hospital. Dialing, he endeavored to regulate his breathing, to settle his heart rate down so the operator couldn't hear it pounding practically out of his chest. Then he was talking to the hospital switchboard, his words coming out fast and desperate, "Yes, I would like to know Dean Winchester's condition. I'm his brother, Sam."

He felt physically ill as he heard the nerve-wracking sound of fingers clicking on a keyboard, of the operating callously looking up his brother's fate on some database. Biting his lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, he waited what seemed like a whole life time until the operator's voice came back on line.

"I'm sorry, sir. We have no siblings listed as emergency contacts for Mr. Winchester."

It was not the response Sam had been hoping or dreading to hear. "What? No, check again. Sam Winchester. I'm Dean's younger brother."

But the woman's reply was an instantaneous denial. "Our records show no family for Mr. Winchester."

"No family?" Sam stammered, bracing his shaking hand on the table. "But what about his father, John?"

"I am only authorized to release information about Mr. Winchester's condition to one person. Have a nice day," and then she promptly but politely hung up on him.

Cursing, Sam slammed his hand down on the table, a thousand thoughts vying for his attention. And a thousand regrets. Not the least was the last thing he said to his brother four years ago.

'_Let me live my life Dean and you live yours_!'

And his brother's reply had been a hurtful question. "_Apart, right? Screw family? Or is it just screw __this__ family, Sam_?'

For that, Sam didn't have a comeback, had just walked out the door, had left.

And he hadn't even looked back once.

Until today.

Until his brother became a news-at-eleven story.

If that didn't say something about him as a brother, nothing did. It was no wonder that Dean had chosen to disown him, had finally adopted his little brother's motto: Screw Family.

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However badly damaged his family's investigative office had appeared on the news reports, in person it was so much worse. Sam's breath caught in his throat at the very sight of it. Ducking under the crime scene tape and slicing through the tape on the door, he entered the office he had once worked in along side his father and brother.

Glass crunched under his shoes. The windows were shot out, papers littered the floor, bullet holes made their mark on the walls, the desks and a chair. Whoever had wanted his brother dead had been serious about it.

Stepping toward his brother's desk, he swallowed hard at the dark stain on the floor. Blood. His brother's blood.

Without warning, a wave of vertigo hit him. Leaning over, he grabbed onto the desk with a white knuckled grip, felt his lungs just shut down, refuse to work.

He had gotten to town too late, had gotten to the hospital just two hours too late.

He should have remembered that in their family business, there was no room for being too late, for not being there when you were needed. It cost lives. How many times had his father tried to drill that into him? But he didn't listen, didn't want to hear about the dangers that lurked in the world. He didn't want that to be _his _world.

But it had been his brother's.

Sam didn't sense the other man's presence until he spoke.

"You should consider a new line of work if the sight of blood makes you ill."

Head snapping up, Sam saw a brown haired man leaning nonchalantly against the wall, the same man that the reporter had questioned on the news blip, the "associate" for the Winchester Investigative Agency. "No, I'm not…You don't understand…."

Castiel Angelo cut across the intruder's explanation, "Let me guess, this is the news story of a lifetime. You break this and it'll be Newsweek from here on out."

"What? No! I'm not a reporter," Sam denied, a little affronted to be lumped with the vultures that didn't care if his brother lived or died only that he gave them something to throw on their lead-ins.

"Ah, criminal returning to the scene of the crime?" Cas taunted, pushing off the wall and approaching the younger man that he had heard so much about.

"No!" Sam retorted with outrage, pissed that he was suddenly being treated as a suspect in his own brother's shooting.

"Have a fetish about crime scenes? Hope to see a grisly outline of where the bodies were?" Cas prodded, knew that it was cruel of him but he needed to get his own take on Sam Winchester.

"Bodies?" Sam stammered, paling. "Dean…he wasn't alone?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Cas jeered, smiled as he began to predatorily circle Sam.

Raising his hands in placation, Sam announced, "Look, I'm Dean's brother, Sam. I…I missed Dean at the hospital…."

"That you did," an edge of judgment and anger evident in the other man's tone.

"I thought…I don't ….Can you tell me where he's at?" Sam finally managed, didn't have the mental capacity to play twenty questions with the stooge his family had hired as an associate, not after drowning in sick tension ever since he learned about his brother's shooting.

"I know where he's at," Cas casually boasted, coming to a stop toe to toe with the taller man.

"Ok, where?" Sam demanded.

"Thought you were off at college in Colorado," Cas quietly said, leveling his cold blue gaze on his best friend's estranged brother.

"California," Sam corrected with a huff. "I was. Then I saw the news…."

Cas smiled like what Sam had seen on the news was something good. "That's Dean for you. Always stealing the lime light."

Not appreciating the man's mocking tone about the attempted murder of his brother or his avoidance of his question, Sam snapped, "Are you going to tell me where my brother is or not?"

But the other man didn't react to the younger man's outburst, offered up his next words lightly, "You're his brother. Shouldn't _you_ know?"

Shuffling on his feet at the veiled accusation, Sam swallowed before he countered, "Like you said, I've been in college."

Cas nodded slightly before he spoke. "College…not the foreign legion. They still have phones in Stanford, right?" hoped that Sam Winchester got his point loud and clear.

Stiffening at the judgment, Sam instantly knew the man had been playing him, knew who he was and exactly which college he was attending all along.

Though Cas smiled, his eyes were glacier. "Yeah, see, I think if you cared about your brother, you'ld know his address, would have his cell phone number on your speed dial." Taking a step closer, he invaded the taller man's personal space. "And you would know that, just because he _finally_ hit the news, it's not the start of the crapstorm Dean's been drowning in."

Blindsided by the other man's condemnation, a condemnation Sam knew he deserved, it took him a moment to find his voice, to declare, "Well, I'm here to help."

Cas unleashed a bitter laugh, raised his voice as he mocked, "Well call in the halleluiah choir! All it took was Dean nearly losing his life AND ending up on Dateline and shazam, you're here to save the day. Gosh, you're making me wish I had a brother."

Sam, his jaw clenching and his patience bleeding away, gritted out, "Either tell me where Dean is or give me his phone number."

For a moment, Cas actually _looked_ like he was contemplating complying to Sam's demand, right before his eyes frosted over with contempt. "You know, I don't think so." And then he walked by Sam, barely even felt the pickpocket maneuver Dean's brother made for his phone.

Not sure how long it would be until his theft was discovered, Sam flipped open his confiscated phone and began scanning the man's contacts. It wasn't hard to find his brother's name. Dean's name was speed dail #1. Feeling an unwelcome shaft of jealousy surge through him, he hit the button to call Dean's number, felt his heart tripping in his chest in anticipation as the phone sought to make the connection.

He never saw the punch coming, doubled over as the blow rammed into his gut.

Easily prying his phone out of Sam's now slack hold, Cas drawled, "You know, I'm mildly impressed." But before he could disconnect the call Sam had initiated, Dean's voice echoed through the destroyed office.

Sam instantly straightened up. Hearing his brother's voice, even distorted through the phone lines, it was like getting air after he had been drowning…for four years.

Scowling, Cas brought the phone to his ear, knew that if he hung up Dean would worry that something was up with him. "Just checking in. How are you doing?" concern slipping into his tone though he hadn't wanted it to, not within Sam's hearing.

"You my visiting nurse now?" Dean snarked back.

Cas found himself smiling. That was his best friend for you. "Not the last time I checked. Well if you don't need anything…"

Relegated to only hearing one side of the conversation, Sam physically jerked when the other man's words registered with him. The brown haired man was going to hang up the phone, was going to severe the flimsy connection with Dean. '_If he does that, I'm going to maybe miss my only chance talk to Dean._' Because he didn't see this man giving up his brother's location under any circumstances short of torture.

Immediately, panic set in. Sam was _thisclose_ to talking to his brother after years of no communication.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, his hands making a frantic grab for the phone. But he came up short when he found himself staring down the barrel of the .45 Colt that Cas wielded like it was an extension of his hand.

"Who's with you?" Dean demanded through the phone lines, tension in his tone.

"TV. You know I'm a slave to the Tori and Dean show," Cas lied, his eyes on Sam whose look was murderous.

Regardless if it meant getting a bullet, Sam stepped forward until the muzzle of the gun rested on his chest, dared the other man to put his money where his mouth was. When the man didn't cock the gun, Sam put his hand out for the phone, a feeling of victory settling over him.

It wasn't the easiest thing for Cas, to not inflict at least a flesh wound on Sam Winchester. One thing stopped him. A big thing. As much as Dean was on the outs with his brother, his best friend/boss would be pissed if he shot Sam. But that didn't mean Cas was going to concede the battle, that he wasn't capable of being cold hearted when it came to acting in Dean's best interest. To Dean, he said, "Well, they are about to get to some juice confessions so I'll talk to you later."

Stunned that the man was going to disconnect the call after all, Sam made a dive for the phone, shouted, "Dean, it's Sam!"

Cas stopped Sam's frontal attack, the younger man's very momentum with a sharp blow to his sternum that had Sam dropping down into a crouch, hand pressed to his chest, breath heaving.

When no sound came from the other end of the phone line, Cas dreaded what would come next. He recognized the deadliness in his friend's tone when Dean finally broke the silence.

"You wanna try again? Who's with you, Cas?"

Cas seared Sam with a look of derision but instead of matching hostility, the younger man looked up at him with a earnest plea in his eyes. It almost managed to crumble a thin layer from Cas' contempt, but not quite. "Your brother. Apparently they get Dateline in California," he sardonically answered Dean question.

"Sam?" Dean questioned, disbelief and shock in his raw tone. "He's in town? He's with you and you're _where_?"

"Office," Cas supplied, watched as Sam stood up, the man's eyes wide in his youthful features, hanging on every word that he exchanged with his brother.

"What? He's at the agency?" Dean asked, surprise replacing his other emotions.

"Yeah, he loves what you've done with the place," Cas sarcastically returned, took up the mantle of humor for Dean's sake. His own gut? It was churning. The last thing Dean needed was more family drama dumped on top of everything else he was dealing with.

"Sammy…" Dean whispered, tenderness in the nickname, as if finally sank in that his brother was with Cas, was in town. Home. "How's he look?"

Watching the trepidation play across Sam's features, Cas knew that the kid suspected that he was on the precipice of getting what he supposedly wanted: To see his big brother. "Taller than you. So should I give him a ride to the airport?" he asked of Dean, silently coached, '_please say yes, please say yes_.' Because Sam might come across all concerned but he had not been there for his brother in years, didn't have a _clue_ about all the crap Dean had been through in his absence, all without one call from him. And to show up now, pretending to care, it made Cas sick and angry. Dean had been hurt enough by his family, he didn't want his friend hurt any worse.

As the man's question to Dean sank in, so did shock and Sam thoughts scattered. The airport? As in go home? Dean doesn't even want to see him? "No. No way am I leaving! Give me the phone. Give me the phone!" his hand again reaching out for the only link he had to his brother.

Coldly staring at Sam like he was a 2 year old having a tantrum, Cas dryly compared, "I see that he's got your Dad's temper and stubbornness."

"Yeah," Dean allowed out with bitterness, his father the epitome of a sore subject.

Shouting, needing Dean to hear him, Sam demanded, "Dean, I came all this way the _least _you owe me is to talk to me!"

At that outburst, Dean growled in Cas' ear, "Give him the phone." And Cas instantly knew that Dean's kid brother had hit a wrong note with Dean. Assured that an angry Dean was much less likely to crumble to his family's needs, Cas handed Sam the phone. But instead of leaving the brothers to their privacy, he leaned against Dean's desk. He was not going anywhere, would vet the conversation right there and if things started to go south…Well it wouldn't be the first time he broke up a Winchester family brawl for Dean's own good.

Cursing his hand for trembling, Sam grabbed the phone, had to clear his throat before he could speak his first word to his brother in nearly four years. "Hey." And it was a real winner of an ice breaker, that one.

"Hey," came Dean's deep baritone. Right back at you baby brother.

"You alright?" Sam's concern managing to override his discomfort.

Dean offered up a clip reply of "I'm fine," like that subject was closed and Sam had to move onto the next topic. But Sam, he never liked to obey orders.

"According to the national news, you're **not fine**. You were _shot_ Dean," Sam's mind numbing fear turning to anger.

"If you wanted the National Inquirer's take on things, I can hang up and you can call them for the real scoop," Dean shot back, his own anger making a showing.

"Dean…" Sam pleaded, didn't want this to fall apart, wanted, needed things to be better between him and Dean. Didn't think he could survive even another _hour_ without seeing his big brother.

Part of Dean resented the concern, the need in his brother's tone, that it almost had him attempting to soothe his brother's raw emotions. Almost. "Guess you can go home now, write a paper about how you reached out for your family ties, tried to find yourself."

"Screw you, Dean!" Sam fired back, hand nearly crushing the cell phone in his grip.

"You already did that, Sammy. Nine ways from Sunday. You and Dad should teach a course."

Sam inhaled, knew he had to take the abuse if he wanted to get past Dean's barriers. "So Dad…Is he working another case?"

"That's a theory," bitterness and avoidance blatant in Dean's comeback.

Sam sighed, rubbed his forehead with a hand that still shook. However he thought his first conversation with his brother would go, it was going worse. "You're not going to give me anything? I came…"

"For the reading of my will? Looking to get the deed to the agency? I hear the property values downtown are slowly going up again…" Dean mercilessly taunted.

Striving for composure, Sam truthfully started "I'm trying…."

But Dean cut Sam off again. "To ease your guilt? They have therapists for that, Sam."

"I don't know why I even bothered to come!" Sam shouted, had forgotten how hard Dean could be, how much work it was to get beyond his brother's defensive walls.

"That makes two of us," Dean coldly replied. He had never expected Sam to come back in his life, no matter what happened. He hadn't honestly held out hope that his little brother would even grace his _funeral_ with his presence.

Biting his lip, feeling tears of anger, of frustration, of sorrow burning his eyes, Sam turned his back on the dark haired man who was watching him like he was an inmate in a high security prison. "I was scared for you, Dean," his voice cracking on the confession. "No matter what's happened between us, you have to know …." He shook his head, couldn't get the words out.

Dean took pity on his brother, quietly admitted, "I know." Because, for all the bad blood between them, Dean knew that Sam didn't want him dead, wouldn't even wish him hurt.

Nodding even though his brother couldn't see it, Sam swallowed, struggled to get himself together but his voice was still hoarse when he beseeched, "Dean, I want to see you."

"Maybe you've noticed but it's not a great time for me to be socializing," Dean's words were mocking and light, like someone trying to kill him was merely an inconvenience to him.

But Sam read between the lines, could still do that with his brother. "Meaning that you're going after whoever tried to kill you," anger and reprimand sharp in the timbre of his voice.

Dean's reply was all biting censure. "Maybe you've been out of the family business too long, Sam. When someone tries to _kill us_, we don't walk away."

"No, instead you give them as many chances as possible to finish the job!" Sam growled back, hated his brother's stubbornness, his willingness to lose his life to solve some stranger's problem.

"Just a perk of the job," Dean gloated, like it was the best part of his profession.

"I'm not going away so you might as well tell me where you are," Sam stiffly pointed out.

"Sam… " Dean's inflection of his brother's name screamed a warning.

A warning Sam blew by with wild abandonment. "No, Dean! You're hurt…you could use some help."

"I got Cas to have my back," Dean smugly supplied, trusted his best friend as if he were family, heck _more_ than he did his own family.

Fighting the urge to look at the other dark haired man, Cas, to size up the person his brother wanted at his side instead of him, Sam announced, "Well, now you have me too," the infamous Winchester stubbornness reflecting in every word of his declaration.

"You sleuthing again?" Dean snorted. "Right. You probably don't know which end of the gun to hold anymore."

Not allowing his brother to push him away, Sam joked, "I hear it's like riding a bike."

Dean wasn't blind. He could hear his brother's worry, knew how huge Sam's offer was to help him, to take up the family business again, even for a day. But there was no way he wanted Sam in danger. Not when Sam had found a nice safe life to live, just like he always dreamed of.

His voice holding the same affection for his little brother that it had when they were kids, Dean appeased, "Sam, I appreciate you coming here, wanting to help, I really do. But I think it's best if you head home."

Sam's response was outrage. "Best for whom?"

"Whom? _Whom_?" Dean repeated with a laugh. "Wow, college is really paying off for you, Professor."

"Shut up," Sam sullenly returned but his lips were turning up into his first true smile in days. It faded away quickly as his brother's carefully constructed words.

"But really, Sam, if you want to call me sometimes, that would be OK," Dean offered, hoped Sam would take that consolation prize and leave.

"Call you but don't see you, that right? Go home and keep my distance?" Sam censoriously volleyed back.

It cut across Dean's heart, that Sam wanted to portray _him_ as the cold hearted one in the family. "You're the one that cut the ties between us, Sammy. I'm just returning the favor."

"Are you so stubborn that you can't admit you need help?" Sam shouted.

For a moment, Dean said nothing but when he spoke, his tone was colder than frozen nitrogen, but the anger boiling in the declaration, it was white hot, carbonized Sam through the phone lines. "I've needed help before. Where were _you_, huh? In your nice safe life, that's where. So go back to it, Sam. Now give Cas back his phone!"

Defenseless against his brother's accusation, Sam dejectedly handed the phone to the man that his brother trusted more than he did him.

Eyes on Sam, Cas asked of his friend, "So, what am I doing with your brother?"

"Take him to the airport and then get some sleep. We'll regroup this afternoon."

With his friend's exhaustion, both physical and emotional, bleeding through the phone lines, Cas wavered at the thought of laying anything else on his friend's shoulder. But seeing Sam's puppy dog eyes and kicked expression, he knew that he had to ask Dean one more question. "You think it's going to be that easy?" purposefully being vague under Sam's scrutiny.

"I think we'll get some leads if we…."

"Not what I meant," Cas corrected, hoped, like always, that he and Dean were able to quickly get on the same wavelength.

Suddenly Dean knew that Cas was referring to the deportation of his little brother back to collegeland. "Don't worry about Sam. He's an expert at leaving his family in his rearview mirror without a second glance. Bye Cas."

"Bye," Cas bid. Tucking the phone back in his pocket, he met Sam Winchester's imploring look. "'Kay, kid, let's go."

Sam stiffened, naively hoping that Dean had changed his mind, "Go where?"

"Airport," Cas lowly announced, heading for the door.

Anger found Sam again. "What are you, Dean's errand boy?" he sneered at Cas' back.

Without even a show of annoyance, Cas turned around to face Sam, quietly answered, "No, I'm his friend and he's asking for my help."

The calm statement sliced across Sam's heart and his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "Your help but not mine, right?" The other man gave a shrug in reply. "I'm not leaving." And with that declaration, he skirted around Dean's desk, took a seat in his brother's chair and began rooting through the paperwork gracing the wood surface.

"Maybe you missed the part where your brother doesn't want you here. Doesn't even want to see you," Cas ruthlessly reminded.

Sparing Cas a deadly glare, Sam then expertly lock picked the desk drawer open and started rummaging through the contents.

Leaning on the desk and casually watching Dean's brother, Cas knew what Sam was searching for: a lead to his brother's whereabouts. But he wasn't worried. What Sam sought, it wasn't to be found where he was looking. "You're definitely more like John than Dean," his statement of fact didn't even earn him a reaction from Sam. "Both so selfish, so willing to leave Dean high and dry."

At that, Sam's head snapped up and he met the other man's condemning gaze. "I went to _college_. Hear that's a pretty normal thing to do." But a second later, his forehead creased in confusion. "Wait? What do you mean about Dad? He's going to join Dean on the case now right?"

Cas gave a surprised snort. "You really have been blinded by the Cali sun, haven't you."

Standing up, Sam abandoned his search to focus on the man who apparently had so many answers that he needed to know. "Fine, then tell me what's going on, _Cas_, since you're the expert on _my_ family." '_And I'm not_.'

Cas gave a small bitter smile and shook his head. "Need-to-know basis, kid and clearly, you don't need or want to know. So, you got any bags?"

"What part of, I'm not going anywhere do you not understand?" Sam snapped, coming to his full height.

"Oh, I don't know," Cas replied, a façade of lightness in his tone that was not in his eyes. "I guess I'm most confused about your timing. You were so willing to bail on your brother before, to not even return his calls let alone take them and now you're all St. Bernard loyal."

"Dean got _shot_! Someone's trying to _kill him_," Sam pointed out, couldn't believe Cas thought he needed something worse than that to come to his brother's side.

Instead of replying, Cas pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket. Crossing to the nearest file cabinet, he unlocked it and opened the drawer, began pulling out manila folder after manila folder and dropping them on the desk in front of Sam.

Looking up from the growing stack of files, Sam demanded of Cas. "What are these?"

"The cases that someone tied to kill your brother," Cas answered casually as if he was discussing a sporting team's losses. "Oh for variety, he almost got blown up on this case," he narrated as he dumped that folder on the stack. "Knifed in this one," adding another folder to the pile. "Oh and one of my personal favorites: electrocution. At first they thought it damaged his heart."

Sam paled, had to grab the desk for support for the second time that night. "I didn't know. He never…."

Suddenly Cas was in Sam's face, venomously hissed, "Don't lie to me! He did. He called ….you just never _cared_ enough to talk to him. So now, you wanting to play brother, to pretend that you're not this heartless jerk that's let him down, well save it for the Stanford acting studios."

To that, Sam had no instant reply, stood there trying to process everything, to not let his guilt eat right through his chest. When Cas again headed for the door, expecting him to follow, to just leave his brother, he huskily entreated, "I'm here now and I want to make things better between me and Dean." Because somehow he knew that he needed to prove to this man, to this stranger that he wouldn't hurt Dean.

Cas halted at Sam's words, wordlessly came back to the younger Winchester's side. "I think that ship has sailed," he ruled, grabbing Sam's arm and yanking the man forward. He didn't anticipate Sam's reaction, took the punch right on the jaw.

His fist stinging from the blow, Sam shook his hand, cursed himself for unleashing his anger on the other man, for feeling so out of control, so inconsolable. And that was the thing with his family, it always left him feeling this way, torn, vulnerable, afraid, no, _terrified._ Terrified that he would do the wrong thing, that he would lose them. Foolishly, he thought he had circumvented that ever happening by leaving them instead.

"Crap, Cas, I'm sorry…" Sam apologized, drowning in shame. He reached out a hand to steady Cas, a man that was Dean's friend, that had had his brother's back when he couldn't, when he had refused to. And that was part of it, why Cas had been the target of his anger. Cas was in _his_ rightful spot, was at his brother's side where he should have been these last years, should still be. '_A spot you gave up!'_

Straightened up with the taller man's help, Cas gave Sam a malicious smile right before he plowed his fist into Sam's gut. And then the fight was officially on.

Sam was no slouch, not like Cas expected any Winchester to be when it came to fighting. But Cas, he had federal training backing him up. Which meant he didn't have to land heavy handed blows to win the match, because, again, Dean wouldn't appreciate him breaking his little brother. Even so, Sam got in a few good shots.

As if to prove that point, Sam's next uppercut caught Cas on the chin, had him spinning around and falling against the nearest file cabinet. Anticipating Sam's approach, Cas spun around and swept Sam's legs out from under him, sending the younger man toppling to the ground with a thud.

With his opponent down, Cas put his foot on Sam's chest, effectively pinning him to the ground. "So, is that a no for having any bags to check at the airport?"

"He's my brother!" Sam shouted, trying to push Cas' foot off his chest without success.

"And he's my best friend!" Cas shouted back, putting more pressure on the man's chest, fighting the desire to inflict some retribution on a man that had turned his back on Dean without a blinking of an eye. Someone that Dean had _trusted_.

Raising his hand in surrender, Sam met Cas' heated gaze. "So neither of us wants anything to happen to him, right? Can't we call a truce, join forces because, I might not have been around Dean for a few years but I'll bet my Stanford diploma that he's still stubborn and reckless when it comes to his own well being. It's more than a one man job, keeping him from hurting himself worse, risking his life to solve some case, right some wrong."

Begrudgingly, Cas had to agree with Sam. If anyone knew what a handful it was to keep Dean safe, it was him. He hadn't even been able to convince the man to stay in the hospital overnight. "You do anything to upset him, to hurt him, and you'll be flying home in a wheelchair, that clear?"

"Yes," Sam vowed immediately, knew that any hesitation in his declaration could change Cas' mind.

Detecting Sam's earnestness, Cas removed his foot from Sam's chest. He didn't offer to help Sam to his feet, simply watched as the man made his own way to a stand. Out of the blue, he bitterly supplied, "He couldn't even be bothered to call me back."

Confused, Sam asked, "Who?"

"Your Dad. I called him on the way to the hospital, after I knew Dean had been shot, when I didn't even know…. " Cas cut himself off, the memories too sharp of frantically driving to the hospital, wondering if he was about to lose his best friend. "He didn't answer his phone, hasn't even called me back yet. Dean could have died and he …" he shrugged but it was an unnatural gesture with his muscles as tight as they were... "…he didn't care."

At Sam's silence, Cas prodded, ignoring the paleness of the kid's features, "What? The law student isn't going to raise a defense for his own father's character?"

His eyes dark and his expressions closed off, Sam shook his head. "No, I won't," and then he brushed by Cas and exited the destroyed office building.

Watching Sam go, Cas understood a little more why Dean was such a hard man to get close to. Why it had taken nearly half a year to get the guy to start trusting him even half as much as he trusted Dean. Once bitten, twice shy. Once…_correction,_ **twice** abandoned, one hundred times reluctant to open himself up to that hurt again.

"Sam Winchester, don't make me regret this," Cas growled to the empty office before he followed Dean's brother out the door.

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TBC

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Thank you for reading!

I know poor Sam's getting some abuse but don't worry, he'll get back into Dean's good graces, he always does. And for all those John fans reading…well this isn't going to be a John friendly fic. Ok, I think that's all the spoilers I'm willing to share.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3:Time Doesn't Change Everything

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: I'm loving that you are on board for this tale! Thanks so much for your blush worthy compliments! It had me itching to post this chapter as soon as possible. So with more delay than I wanted, here is chapter 3. Hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter 3: Time Doesn't Change Everything

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Pulling into the driveway of Dean's house, Cas cut the car engine and looked to his passenger. There was wonder in Sam's eyes as he took in the sight of his brother's home, like he was reveling in each connection he made to Dean, that got him closer to Dean. But when Sam put his hand on the doorknob, Cas grabbed his forearm, halting his exit from the car.

"Just sit here, till I give you the signal," he ordered.

"What? Why?" Sam protested, was so close to seeing Dean that he was practically humming with excitement.

"I don't want to just spring you on him," Cas justified, but he wasn't sure of his true motives. Truth was, he was having second thoughts about forcing the reunion on Dean. A reunion Dean might not be up to.

As if sensing those misgivings, Sam tried to assuage the other man's nervousness, "Trust me, Dean will be pissed at me, not you."

"Course he will," Cas sarcastically snapped back as he got out of the car, was relieved that Sam obediently stayed in its confines.

To Cas, it felt like he was going on one of those intense FBI busts again, his heart thudding, his legs aching to either hurry up to the front door or run away. From personal experience, he knew that facing a furious Dean Winchester was way worse that facing a drug lord. Giving a brief knock on the door, he didn't have to wait more than twenty seconds before the door swung open to reveal Dean.

At the sight of the bruises on his best friend's face, Dean demanded, "What happened to you?" reaching out, he snagged Cas' jaw in his hand and visually inspected the wounds. But Cas soon wiggled out of his grip, slipped by him into the house.

"Your brother happened," Cas supplied, all too willing to get Dean's sympathy before he garnered his friend's anger.

Spinning to face his friend, Dean incredulously asked, "Sam? Sam did this to you?" his eyes evaluating the wounds with new found fascination.

"Unless you have another brother you didn't mention…" Cas countered, knew he was hedging the real issue and didn't care.

"I didn't think…" Dean began in confusion.

"What? That he would object to leaving you? For the record, Dean, he objected. Strongly," Cas pointed out, needed Dean to know that much about his brother, especially in light of who was coming to dinner.

But Dean's jaw clenched with resolve. "It's how things need to be."

'_Oh crap. This is going to go so much worse than I foresaw_,' Cas thought before he cleared his throat, hedged, "Yeah, about that…."

And Dean knew his friend well enough to know when Cas was trying to tell him something he didn't want to hear. "Cas…" drawling his friend's name out in warning.

Trying another approach, Cas rationalized, "Since your Dad pulled up stakes, you've been balancing a heavy load. And that was before the Mason case. And why aren't you wearing your sling?" he interrupted himself, finally taking in his friend's appearance. "I heard what the doctor told you…"

Dean sliced across Cas' concern with a harsh demand. "Tell me Sam's halfway to Stanford, Cas."

But it was another voice that replied, a voice that sounded so much more familiar in person. "No. I'm right where I'm supposed to be," Sam declared, stepping into his brother's house. '_With you_.'

With his initial surprise fading, Dean growled, "I told you I didn't want you here!"

"Tough," Sam fired back. And then he was taking in his brother's appearance, the wrapped forearm, the cuts on his face, his pale complexion, the way he was stiffly moving, left arm braced against his ribs. And then there were the other changes in the brother he had known four years ago: the hardness in Dean's eyes, the coiled danger seeping from his brother, the tight pull of his brother's features and the new scar under his jaw. Knowing that Dean wouldn't react well to open concern, he bluntly observed, "You look like crap, Dean,"

"It's nice to see you too, Sam," Dean grumbled, but inside, part of him was melting, the part of him that had missed his brother the last four years like he would a limb, like he would his _heart_. It went way beyond nice to see Sam, to have his little brother standing in _his_ house, to know that, Sam didn't hate him more after all these years apart. That his brother maybe didn't hate him at all, not if he came all this way to make sure he was alright.

Cas felt a need to weigh in on the touching reunion he was witnessing. "Wow! You guys are deep. Brings a tear to my eye."

"Shut up!" Dean and Sam said at the same time, their eyes instantly meeting, surprised that they had fallen into that rhythm again so quickly.

Hoping that that coincidence meant that he and Dean's connection was still alive, was just buried a little ways down, Sam said, "Dean, I wasn't going to leave before I knew you were alright." But his brother wasn't going to make things that easy.

"Well, now you know I'm fine. Go back to Stanford," Dean bluntly ordered, stood there rigidly as if waiting for Sam to turn tail and walk out the door. Because no matter what Dean's heart wanted, he needed Sam to leave, for his little brother to be **safe**.

"Oh, yeah, you're just great," Sam angrily shot back. "Dean, I saw the office. You're lucky to be alive."

"Lucky? I'm alive because I'm friggin' awesome at my job. Which, by the way, you're not." At Sam's tilted head of confusion, Dean clarified, "Awesome at this job…well not anymore." Because, no matter how much Sam had hated it, he had been good at the family business, right up to the moment he ditched the job _and his family_.

"So I'll brush up a bit, take a few shots at a firing range," Sam offered nonchalantly, like doing this, offering to take up the family business again didn't feel like a life changing moment. To return, ever so briefly, to a way of life that he had sworn would never be his future. But what could he say, he was an old softie when it came to his big brother, would do anything, _anything_ for the jerk.

"Instincts, Sam," Dean countered, said slowly like Sam was a moron. "I'm talking about the danger vibe instincts. And being able to take care of yourself."

Sam smiled cockily, "I didn't do too badly against your boy Friday," nodding toward Cas.

Dean looked to Cas for confirmation, tried not to let the outward marks on his friend's face sway his judgment.

Ruefully Cas admitted, "He got in some good shots" rubbing his bruised jaw.

But Dean knew the right questions to ask. "And who won in the end?"

Cas' boasting smile grew slowly but surely. "Oh, I did."

Dean looked to Sam with raised eyebrow, as if that was all the proof he needed.

"I got him to bring me here, didn't I?" Sam smugly pointed out, wasn't just a Winchester in name only.

Knowing that he wasn't going to win the battle with his current tactics, Dean used his brother's favorite weapon against him. Logic. "Sam, we're kind of in the thick of things. I don't have time to watch your back, to worry if you're OK."

Sam hated that his brother saw him as a liability instead of an asset. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dean. You don't have to watch out for me," resentment creeping into his tone.

"Fine. Then how about this, you walked away from this business and you should stay away. Especially now."

Sam shook his head at his brother's stubbornness. "Right, because I shouldn't be worried about you. You're …"

Surprisingly, it was Cas who supplied a description, "the fearless leader." Lanced with Dean's glare and Sam's look of confusion, he shrugged, explained, "That's what I call him."

Turning back to his brother, Sam gentled his voice, "Dean, you're not…"

"What? Dad?" Dean spit out with umbrage.

Sam huffed out a breath before he corrected, "Invincible, Dean. And I don't want to see you hurt."

Under his breath Dean mumbled, "That's funny coming from the guy whose greatest pleasure seems to hurt me."

But Sam heard his brother's words. "You really think that?" outrage and hurt soaking in the question.

In answer, Dean gave Sam a hard stare, refused to open old wounds, to rattle off all the proof he had for his case.

Shrinking under Dean's silent condemnation and the hurt that his brother couldn't quite conceal, Sam rasped, "Well, it's not." Then before Dean made a reply, he crossed into his brother's living room and sank down on the couch, all the world looking like he had just settled down for the night …or for a lifetime. Chin stubbornly lifted, he eyed his brother across the room, "I'm not going anywhere so you might as well put me to work."

Cas stepped closer to Dean, could feel the tension pouring off his friend, could also read the indecision marring the other man's features. "Dean, we could use someone researching our leads. You said your brother was a computer genius."

Of course, Sam heard that. "Genius, huh?" he repeated, inside glowing that Dean had given him such a compliment.

His words for Cas but his eyes on his brother, Dean corrected, "I said my brother was a computer _geek_, Cas. Big Difference."

Sam only smiled wider as he leaned back on the couch, spread his arms out over the back of the cushions. "Call me whatever you want, Dean, but you know I'm the computer savant in the family."

Not able to fight Sam AND Cas, Dean relented, "Fine. But if you get caught hacking again…"

"Never happen," Sam cockily assured.

"When have I heard that before," Dean's words heavy with sarcasm as he remembered the times his brother's hacking had gotten them into trouble.

Sam remembered those times too. And every single one of them, his big brother had swooped in to save him. He thought it would be nice to be able to return the favor this time around. "Just read me in on the case, jerk," he ordered with a laugh.

"_Read you in_?" Dean mockingly repeated. "Have you been penning that spy novel again in your spare time, Sammy?"

"No, I'm writing a best seller: Twenty Ways to Dispose of your Brother without Going to Jail," Sam smart mouthed back, had missed this, the banter he and Dean threw at one another.

"Funny. Guess you should have lent the draft to the guys who tried to kill me," Dean quipped but Sam paled instantly at the real life comparison.

Feeling bad about unintentionally putting Sam on a guilt trip, Dean crossed to his kitchen table, retrieved a file then came into the living room. He dropped the file on the coffee table at Sam's feet before claiming a spot on the couch beside his brother. After a minute, he looked up expectantly to Cas, who still stood in the entranceway. "You waiting for a formal invitation to join our group?"

And the funny thing was, Cas was. He had felt like an outsider, standing there watching Dean interact, laugh, trade barbs and memories with his real life brother. It had begun to belittle the brotherhood he thought he had with Dean. But now, with Dean's snarky invitation, his friend was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn't trading him up for the real thing.

'_Not yet,_' Cas darkly hedged.

Aloud Cas said, "I'm not working without coffee," before he headed to the kitchen, a kitchen he knew as well as his own. Maybe better. That was the nature of being partners, of working the job 24/7, of keeping each other alive by knowing each other's habits, thoughts, until speech wasn't necessary. '_But we're not brothers. Not like he and Sam are_.' And out of nowhere, a quote floated up into his brain: "You can't replace the real thing."

He had been a fool to think he could.

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Watching his brother with Cas, the ease of their connection, the loyalty and affection humming under the surface but so very evident, it was suffocating Sam. Made him wonder what could-have-been if he had stayed, if he and Dean would ever have become that close. And it made him all the more determined that he and Dean find a way to be brothers again.

Turning to Sam, unaware of the thoughts going through his brother's head, Dean said, "I'll bring you up to speed awhile. Harry Mason supposedly blew his own head off in his 31st floor office at Kenvert. Left an email suicide note."

Bringing his focus back to the case, Sam shook his head in sad resignation. "An email? So that's the personal touch nowadays?"

"Guess so," Dean mumbled, shying away from Sam's eyes. Sam who hadn't even been willing to make even that impersonal, cold contact with him for four years.

Sensing that Dean was avoiding his eye contact, Sam's eyes narrowed.

Dean continued his recap. "Mason's family didn't believe it was a suicide and his father hired me to investigate."

"And you found out that it wasn't a suicide," pride in his brother ebbing from Sam' tone.

"Not exactly," Cas shot down Sam's conclusion as he entered the living room. He threw something that fluttered in the air toward Dean, something that hit Dean lightly in the face: the fabric sling Dean was supposed to be sporting. "Put that on before you screw up your arm and become even a worse marksmen than you already are," he ordered, his voice a low affectionate growl as he claimed the chair to Dean's right.

"I'm an awesome shot and you're just jealous," Dean parried back with a cocky smile which was met with Cas' pointed look at the sling in Dean's hand and then back up to Dean's face. Knowing that Cas would hound him and hound him until he did his bidding, Dean sighed and surrendered the battle.

Amazed that Dean was obeying anyone that wasn't their father, especially when it came to taking care of himself, it took Sam a moment to jump in and help his brother. Reaching out, he carefully settled the strap of the sling on his brother's shoulder. Smiled like an idiot when his actions garnered a warning glare from his brother. Some things were just as he remembered them.

With the sling finally on and his brother's oh-so-helpful hands finally sliding free of his shoulder, Dean gave Cas a look that could peel paint and the fakest smile he knew how to conjure up. "Happy?"

"Exceedingly," Cas replied with a toothy smile to which Dean rolled his eyes.

Forcing his mind back to the case, Sam caught onto the threads of what his brother and Cas were saying. "Wait, so you don't have evidence …"

"Do now," Dean brashly announced, proudly wiggling his arm as if the proof wasn't obvious enough.

"Because someone tried to kill you? That's your evidence?" Sam asked, his voice rising at the notion. "Sorry, but it's not like you haven't made other enemies…"

"I trusted my gut instincts, Sammy, and I got results."

"You were reckless," Cas snapped, taking the words right out of Sam's mouth. It was the first sign of true anger toward Dean that Sam witnessed from the other man. Sam noted that the look Cas leveled at his friend and boss was heavy with accusation.

"I was being a detective…" Dean brazenly defended.

"Ok, you don't like reckless, how about insouciant?" Cas snarked, didn't wilt under Dean's glare.

Watching the interchange between the two men, one of which he was supposed to know down to the core, once had, Sam decided to intervene before there was bloodshed. "You want to stop arguing and clue me in. Why would someone try to kill you if you have no evidence of foul play?"

Dean shrugged, winced as it caused pain to flare in his shoulder. "I told Mr. Mason that I **did** have evidence, thought it would shake things up."

"Oh it did," Cas muttered, his reproof at the results clear.

Dean gave Cas a withering glower. "You want to tell this story?"

Taking Dean up on his phony offer, Cas turned to Sam. "You're brother's…", he put air quotes around his next two words, ".."_gut instincts_".. told him that it was an inside job so he decided, since we had bupkis, to see if someone wanted to kill him to shut him up about his non-exist evidence."

"Alright, alright," Dean grumpily interrupted Cas' tainted tale. "Your coffee's done, go get some…and get me and Sam some too. And get a pizza delivered. Two," he ordered of his friend.

Without complaint, Cas surged off the couch, whistled as he headed to the kitchen, had done his very best to bring Sam up to speed on just how much work it really was to keep one Dean Winchester alive.

Dean wasn't expecting to face a furious Sam.

"Really? That was your plan, Dean! To make yourself the target? You're dealing with a possible murderer and you …"

"What I did was my job," Dean stated evenly, daring Sam to challenge him.

Which Sam did, a heartbeat later. "So getting shot, nearly killed, that's your job? Dad wouldn't…"

"Don't talk about Dad," Dean cut in, his voice sharp enough to cut glass and his eyes glittering with barely checked anger.

Faltering at the violence in his brother's eyes, remembering Cas' words about their father, Sam adopted a gentle, worried tone, "It's not your job to put yourself in danger unnecessarily, Dean."

"You forget, it isn't _your_ call what I do, how I run _my_ business," Dean bristled. His brother had forfeited those rights a long time ago.

"Yeah, yeah it is my call Dean. Because you're my _**brother**_," Sam emphatically declared, couldn't believe Dean didn't know that about him, that this would upset him, how reckless he had been with his own life.

"Wow. You actually remember that," Dean bitterly threw back, his eyes clashing with Sam's.

Cas had stood in the kitchen, uncertain if he should intrude on the family conversation but when the hurtful words remained hanging in the air, his decision was made. Ready and willing to be a buffer for his best friend, he stalked back into the room. Plopping three mugs of coffee on table, he opened the case file and tossed a picture, face side up, to Sam's side of the table: the crime scene photo of Mason's corpse. Cas wanted to see how Sam reacted to the gore.

Without an internal or external twinge at the grisly photo, Sam picked up the 8X10 glossy of death. "Coroner still sticking with his suicide verdict?"

"Yup," Dean replied, glad to be back on task. "Bullet entered the skull at the plausible angle for the shot to be self inflicted. Gun powder was found on Mason's right hand. There's no proof that anyone else was in the room, not by any security cameras or by any physical evidence.

Eyes holding Dean's, Sam stated without censor, "But you still felt that it was murder." For all the crap between him and Dean, he trusted his brother's instincts, even more than he did their father's. Always had.

"Harry Mason's father didn't believe his son would kill himself," Dean stated matter-of-factly. He hadn't needed more than that to whole heartedly take up the investigation.

Though he knew he would be treading on dangerous ground, Sam forced the question out of his constricted throat, "And Mason and his father, they were close?"

Dean's smile didn't even pretend to be sincere. "I think they talked more than once every four years."

Sam stewed at his brother's direct hit. '_Yeah, not dangerous but deadly ground,' _he silently amended his earlier prediction.

Cas spoke in the lull. "Considering someone tried to **kill **Dean a day after he told Mason's father that he had evidence of foul play, I think we can begin to head down the road of this being murder."

"One that they are willing to kill again to cover up," Sam surmised, looking worriedly to Dean, taking in his brother's pale features, the sling immobilizing his shoulder, stark proof of just how close he had come to losing his brother.

Ignoring his brother's pitying look, Dean calmly strategized, "So we just use what leverage we can to bring them out in the open."

Dread washed over Sam. "And what leverage is that?"

"Me. They want to shut me up," Dean answered, smiling cockily like he had a hand of aces.

"Which you have no intention of doing…" Cas muttered, unhappy with where this was heading, just like he knew he would be.

"Exactly. I think it's time I do some interviews…but only with a smoking hot reporter…"

Putting the pieces together, Sam scowled and disapproval laced his next words, "So they know you aren't abandoning the case and they come after you. Again."

"Guess you're not as rusty as I thought you were, Sammy," Dean complimented, turning a blind eye to his brother's reproof for his awesome plan.

Cas and Sam exchanged looks and, in that moment, they were in total agreement. Dean's plan sucked. Both neither of them were foolish enough to think that they could easily dissuade Dean from implementing it. Truth was, Dean was _already_ in the crosshairs of a murderer.

Conceding that what Sam had said before was true, that keeping Dean safe was more than a one man job, Cas sighed, rubbed his hand wearily over his brow. "And Sam and I get the easy part, right? Keeping you alive?" his words for Dean but his eyes settling on Sam. He saw resolve that matched his own etched in Sam's face. Any comers would have to go through _both_ of them to get to Dean. "Sam, please tell me you were joking about needing to brush up on the shooting range?"

Dean, giving Sam an affectionate pat on the chest, proudly answered, "Sam's almost as good a shot as I am, Cas. Better than our Dad."

"Ok. When's the good news going to start?" Cas deadpanned before Dean threw a pillow at his head, which he didn't catch.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4: Color Blind

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 4: Color Blind

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Though Sam wasn't happy to be relegated to researcher, thems were the breaks for the newbie. He had been out of the game for years and as much as Dean talked about it and Cas gave him measuring glances, Sam was man enough to admit, at least to himself, that he wasn't at the level he once was. That his instincts, they were still there but, yeah, they were a little dull. So ok, research, it wasn't glamorous but it was something he could do, was still at the top of his game in that skill set.

None of those rationalizations made it any easier to be left behind.

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Sparing a glance away from the road, Cas looked over at his passenger, knew that Dean thought he was hiding his pain and exhaustion from him. But he wasn't, at all. And if he could have left Dean back with his brother without Dean having an aneurism, he would have done it.

"What?" Dean grumbled, meeting Cas' sneaky glance head on. He was wounded, yeah, he wasn't dead. He knew the score even if Cas didn't think he did.

"He's different than I expected," Cas opened with, knew that Dean appreciated honesty almost as much as he valued loyalty.

Dean smirked, half pride and half scorn in his expressive eyes for his brother. "I know. Geeky and taller than me."

"Yes but…" here Cas faltered, didn't want to dredge up pain for his friend.

But Dean's eyes narrowed and his voice lost its lightness as he prodded, "Spit it out so we can move on."

'_Here goes_,' Cas thought before he took the plunge. "He cares about you, Dean," an edge of surprise in his declaration, admitted the next second, "I didn't expect that."

Dean's eyebrows rose at that. "Because I'm such a jerk?"  
>Cas faced the road, his voice rough when he confessed, "No, because I always thought he was."<p>

Indignation rang from Dean's tone, "You don't even know him, Cas?" A little hurt, feeling a little betrayed, Dean was wholly angry that Cas was passing judgment on Sam, thought he knew something about _his_ brother.

Hands tightening on the steering wheel, Cas strove for a level tone. "I know he left you four years ago and wouldn't return your phone calls."

"Guess I'm not that great a conversationalist," Dean quipped, explained away his brother's actions.

But Cas' eyes flew to Dean's, anger in their blue depths. "Right," he drawled with disdain. "Because it had to be something _you did wrong_."

To which Dean merely shrugged and looked out the car's side window. "When two people you love bail on you and basically tell you to go screw yourself, it's a good indication that you're the problem."

"Dean that's not…" Cas began to defend his friend but, as usual, Dean was unwilling to listen.

"Stow the touchy feely crap, Cas," Dean said sourly, shooting Cas a warning. But at the hurt that fell over Cas' features, Dean sighed, adopted a lightness to his tone that he didn't feel. "I know you took a semester of psychology in college, that you got psych exams in the FBI whenever you even scuffled with a perp, just _loved_ profiling your suspect, but here at the Winchester Investigation Agency, we don't talk about our feelings, we bury them nice and deep in a reinforced steel box."

Cas nodded like he agreed but his sarcastic comeback proved otherwise. "Sure. Why would you want to open up, maybe give yourself a break. What was I thinking?"

"You weren't," Dean shot back but, for a moment, gratitude shown in the gaze he bestowed on Cas. "Now, tell me again why we're heading back to the office?"

"I was looking at some of your old case files and it tripped something in my head."

"Light bulb finally flickering on after all this time, huh?" Dean teased, reveled in his friend's fierce look.

"Tell me again why I ruined my FBI career to save your life?" Cas dramatically asked, seemingly of the universe.

"Because I returned the favor and saved _your_ life," Dean provided, smugly smiling.

"My life wouldn't have _needed_ saving if I hadn't followed your lead," Cas insisted, being his usual persnickety self.

But Dean had an answer for everything. "It's one of those eternal loops, Cas. Like that whole Terminator thing. If John Connor didn't send his father to the future, he wouldn't have been born but if Reese survived the movie, he would be dead BEFORE his son could sign him up for time travel. Then…"

"Please stop," Cas whined.

"…again if Sarah wouldn't have been into Kyle…"

"I'll buy you pie if you stop.." Cas bargained, knew he had been had when Dean smiled his infamous Cheshire cat smile.

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"Ah, what a mess…" Dean moaned, stepping over the pieces that had once been his favorite paperweight and the crumbled remains of the snack he was going to have before a hail of bullets interrupted his work habits the prior day. When he slipped on some papers on the floor, Cas was instantly there, grabbing his right arm, steadying him.

"I'm fine," Dean groused, attempted to yank his arm free only to find that Cas' grip was tight, wasn't going to be dislodged without a war if the steely resolve in his friend's eyes was any indication. Without a word, Cas escorted him across the room like an errant school boy, didn't give much warning before he manhandled him into his office chair. His chair that, thankfully, had escaped the carnage.

'_Unlike me_,' Dean thought, absently rubbing his left shoulder where the slug had been pulled out of his flesh. His eyes scanning the damage, he mumbled, "Dad's going to be even more pissed when he sees this…"

Cas' head snapped to Dean. "More pissed? He called you? He's angry with _you?_!" Cas demanded, unable to hide his fury at Dean's "father of the year" …if the rating system was all about drunk, distant, judgmental, obsessive fathers who treated their kids like soldiers in his personal vendetta against the world's sins. Then yeah, John Winchester was a sure bet winner for the next ten years.

Pointedly, Dean didn't answer Cas' questions, instead he began to straighten up his desk, as if, out of all the ruins, things would be better if he could set one thing to rights. But his hand hovered over a stack of file folders. Folders he didn't have on his desk when someone decided they liked him better dead than alive. "Why are these case files out? Is this how you found the office? Were they looking for something…"

"Other than to kill you?" At Dean's admonishing look, Cas said, "No. The files weren't touched."

"Then how…"

"Sam," Cas supplied, hoped that was explanation enough.

"What? Sam decided to start auditing my old case files wanting his part of the profits?" Dean's sarcasm coming on line.

"We were talking about some of your cases…" Cas offhandedly stated, immediately going to the file cabinet, looking for the info that he needed.

Looking at the case names of the files piled on his desk, Dean's lips formed a grim line as memories of each one of them swept over him. "So you thought you should highlight my greatest hits?" anger and accusation surging to the surface. The very last thing he wanted to do was look weak, like a failure to Sam.

Leaning a moment against the cabinet, closing his eyes, Cas tried to regain some strength for the upcoming battle. Turning around, he faced his friend's wrath. "I wanted him to know that this wasn't the first time you needed him."

Irately, Dean picked up the files and waved them in the air. "These were none of Sam's business. And Sam and me, what goes on between us, in the past or now, it's none of yours…"

Despairingly, Cas ran a hand through his hair, knew, even at the time he was sharing that information with Sam, that he was crossing a line. "Ok, I stepped over the line but he was coming on strong like he was this awesome brother to you…." Then he swallowed down his anger, let the rest of his thoughts remain unspoken. '_When_ _he __**wasn't.**_" Had no desire to knock Dean over the head with what he already knew.

Sorrowfully, Dean dropped the files, admitted, "He was once, we both were. Long time ago." Blinking away his thousand yard stare of memories, Dean pinned Cas with his penetrating stare, knew that his fellow investigator was on the trail of some lead. "So what's got you rifling through the files?"

Knowing that they were moving on, Cas begrudgingly let the matter drop. "The attack on you. It was more gangster style than corporate murder." Then he tossed a folder to Dean, a folder Dean caught in his good hand.

Opening the file, Dean's eyes immediately shot up to Cas'. "You think this .." his hands gesturing to his shot up office, "wasn't about the Mason case, was instead that street gang getting some payback?"

"Fits their profile. The drive-by shooting, the spray of bullets, the type of firepower and the low grade bullets they dug out of you and the walls," Cas reported.

"It's been two years. You think this street gang's going with the 'revenge is a dish best served cold'?"

Cas sighed. "I admit, it doesn't make much sense but it seems like it's them."

"Which leaves the Mason case colder than their revenge," Dean dejectedly reasoned, slamming his fist down on the desk.

"I don't know what's better, telling Mason's dad, '_sorry your son wasn't murdered'_ or '_what a relief, no was out to kill your son, he just took his own life',_" Cas said, didn't envy his boss's job at delivering either news.

"My gut's still screaming that something's wrong Cas," Dean quietly confessed with conviction but the look he leveled at Cas was hesitant, asked for something he wasn't sure he should: Trust.

"Well then we'll just have to comb through everything, find something a little less dramatic than fifty bullets," Cas reasoned, already trying to figure out a new angle for their case.

"You believe me?" Dean asked incredulously, gratitude beginning to shine in his eyes as they met Cas'.

Cas answered the question with a ready, sincere smile and a tilt of his head that said '_course I do, sillyhead_.' "You've been right too many times for me to discount your instincts now, Dean." But silently Cas wondered how many times he had to walk through fire _for _Dean and _with_ Dean before the guy got that he trusted him? Course he didn't begrudge Dean's timidity to put his faith in someone that might go and bail on him when the crap hit the fan. Experience was nothing but a brutal teacher. '_But I'm not like them, Dean. And I don't plan on ever becoming one of them. Heck, Sam doesn't even want to be one of them anymore.'_

"Come on, I'll take you back to your brother." Latching onto Dean's arm, Cas pulled his friend to his feet, refused to relinquish his grip as they negotiated side by side through the chaos that once was Winchester Investigations.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked apprehensively, knew that look in his friend's eyes well enough to know he wouldn't like Cas' answer. And he didn't.

"Talk to some guys wearing colors."

That had Dean fervently shaking his head. "NO. No way are you going to see the gang. If they did put the hit out on me, they are probably gunning for you too."

Smiling his most brazen of smiles, Cas said, "What can I say, I'm feeling neglected."

"I'll go with you," Dean offered which earned him Cas' raised eyebrows of disbelief.

"Instead, why don't I just shoot you myself and save them the cost of bullets," Cas drawled, knew his sarcasm wasn't lost on his friend when Dean's eyes silently told him were to go.

"You can't go alone," Dean insisted, knew his friend had to know that much. That Cas wasn't dumb, was a smart aleck, was stubborn, yes, but never stupid.

"Fine. How about your little brother? How's he look in gang colors?" Cas suggested, part of him wanting to see Sam in action.

"No. No way! Sam is out of this life and he's staying out of it," Dean firmly set down the law. After all, he was still his little brother's keeper.

"So he jumped on a plane and flew here to hand in his resignation to the agency? Dean, he came here to make sure you were OK and he is **staying** to help keep you alive," Cas quietly said, knew Sam's present actions, they spoke for themselves, did some damage control for all the ways Sam had let Dean down in the past. **Some** damage control, mind you. There was a truckload that Cas was in no way giving Sam Winchester a free pass on. But today, right now, he knew, no, he **trusted** Sam to do whatever he had to do to keep his brother safe.

"Sam is not getting in the middle of a gang war, Cas!"

"It's not a war," Cas downplayed. Opening his passenger car door, he only released his hold on Dean's arm once his friend was settled in the seat and after Dean gave his hand a painful slap.

Cas slammed the door on his friend's opposed demand, "What would you call it?"

Rounding the car for the driver's side, Cas replied out of Dean's earshot, "Simply fifteen tattooed, gun toting underprivileged kids that would rather see you dead than go boo at a Justin Bieber concert. But no war, I swear."

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Sam heard his brother's raised voice before the two men even entered the house.

"You're not asking him," Dean thundered, putting his hand on Cas' chest, halting the other man from entering the house. But Cas condescendingly patted Dean's hand before he lightly twisted it and slipped by Dean into the entrance hallway. "Cas don't!"

Looking up at the arguing men as they entered the house, Sam innocently quested, "Don't what?"

"Nothing. Cas was just leaving," Dean delivered in a voice tight with anger, lancing Cas with a murderous warning.

In response, Cas promptly turned to Sam. "Sam, how would you like to have a talk with the people who shot your brother?"

Sam instantly came to his feet. "Let's go," a lethalness in his tone that Dean hadn't ever heard from his brother before. That sounded far too much like their father for Dean's peace of mind.

Stepping in Sam's path, Dean forbade, using his I'm-the-big-brother-so-you-have-to-obey-me tone, "No. You're not going." Looking over his shoulder at Cas, he hissed, "For the last time, he's not going, Cas!"

Sam replied before Cas could. "They shot you, Dean! I'm part of this and I'm going." Sidestepping his brother, Sam headed for the door, yelled out an order of "Stay here, Dean!" before he left the house.

Cas couldn't keep the satisfied smile off his face. "We'll be back before Dr. Sexy is on."

Reaching a hand out, Dean grabbed Cas' shoulder, gave him a beseeching look. "Cas…"

"I won't let anything happen to him," Cas vowed, didn't need to be Dean's brother to know what would hurt the man most in this world.

Nodding his acceptance of his friend's promise, Dean released his grip on Cas and watched his best friend follow in his brother's footsteps, right out the door and probably right into trouble.

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Cas knew from experience that Winchesters were not only stubborn but they had a crappy habit of being right. Like Sam was proving right then.

"Cas, they know you. They don't know me. Unless you want to get into a knife fight at a gun battle, let me go in, just ask some questions."

"And they'll take one look at your youthful features and rattle off their latest sins like they're at confession?" Cas quipped, just because Sam had a point that didn't mean he was going to just roll over and concede the win.

Sam gave him a very familiar glare. "I know what I'm doing. Dean taught me all I know…"

"That's what worries me," Cas muttered under his breath, could see by the clenching of Sam's jaw that the kid would take any hits to his ego he could dish out but attacking Dean's skill, that was asking for a beat down. Sighing, Cas gave in, reached over to his car's glove compartment and handed his spare gun to Sam. "In case that Winchester charm fails," he explained, enjoyed Sam's boastful smile even as the younger man took the weapon and promptly checked how many rounds were in the clip.

As Sam did his inspections, Cas said, trying not to sound worried, "I'm not sure if you care but, if something happens to you on my watch…Dean won't forgive me. Which means he'll fire me and that will make it _pretty_ hard for me to have his back when you leave again." He honestly tried to hold back his smile when that statement earned him a pissed off glower from Sam. But the Winchester boys, they were almost too easy to wind up.

The car shook as Sam slammed the passenger door on his exit.

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The gang members weren't hard to spot in the bar, didn't even take Sam's honed, if dusty, investigator skills, not with them sporting their colors like a brownie troop. But as good luck would have it, they were playing Sam's game: Pool.

Coming to a halt by the pool table where two gang members were engaged in a game of nine ball, Sam greeted, "Hey. Interested in a game?"

The dark haired, nose pierced gang member looked Sam up and down. "Didn't know your mommy let you out this late."

Pulling out a hundred from his pocket, Sam laid the bill on the table. "Does that mean you're too good to take candy from a baby?"

"Nope," the other blonde haired gang member with a tattoo of barbwire around his neck answered as he laid his money down on top of Sam's.

Before the table could be set, Sam put his hand over the bet and met the blonde's eyes head on, "'Cept if I win, you answer some questions I have."

"We don't do surveys, dude," the dark haired member snorted.

Starting to pull back his hundred from the table, Sam began "Guess we're done then…"

The blonde's hand slapped over Sam's. "Fine, you want to up the ante. If we win, you do a nice delivery for us uptown, no questions asked," the twenty year old waged, his smile showing his gold tooth.

Though he had never run with this type of crowd, Sam knew exactly what kind of delivery the blonde kid was talking about. "Deal" he agreed because he had absolutely no intention of losing. Wouldn't happen, not when he had been taught the pool hustle by the very best: his big brother.

And true to his brother's teachings, Sam played a modest game, made the winning ball dropping into the pocket seem not so much lucky as well maneuvered. Though the gang member accepted his loss with surprisingly little complaint, Sam didn't reach for the money, verbally ventured instead, "Saw your handiwork on South Hammond Street."

Sam hated that part of his brain was choosing that moment to reenact the drive-by shooting, his family detective agency getting laced with bullets, Dean being shot, down, unconscious, bleeding. Attempting to shut down his imagination, he fisted his hand so tight that his muscles nearly locked.

"Did you now?" the blonde drawled, leaning back against the pool table, eyeing the preppy college kid with sharper interest.

"Yeah, but you didn't sign your work," Sam said, knew that a gang wanting to enhance their reputation had to mark their jobs with their gang tags. Their agency, however, had been bare of gang graffiti.

The dark haired kid shrugged, "It wasn't personal. What's it to you?" starting to posture for the sake of his audience.

Focusing on the blonde member, Sam replied, "Thought everything was personal with you guys."

Taking that statement as a challenge, the brunette got in Sam's face, hissed, "We can make it personal."

'_You already made it personal when you shot my brother,'_ Sam internally growled. Clenching his fist tighter, he fought to keep his cool. Dean would be pissed if he came back with even a scratch on him and like it or not, his odds weren't good if he starting throwing punches. Raising his hand in supplication, he explained, "Hey, I'm just testing the waters. I've got a …_problem_ that I'ld like to go away and thought maybe you guys were up for hire."

"We dabble," the blonde admitted.  
>"So that thing on Hammond, that was outsourced?" Sam asked, pretended that he wasn't holding his breath, that he wasn't itching to just pull Cas' gun and shove it in their faces, to inflict pain on them like they had on his brother.<p>

"What are you looking for, references?"

Sam smiled but his eyes remained ice cold. "Wouldn't hurt. I have to know I can count on you to do things my way."

"We aim to please," the brunette gloated.

It took a few swallows before Sam could form the next words, get them to come out as anything above a growl, "So that guy living, those were your orders?"

The blonde bragged, "We got paid either way. Personally I wanted him dead." Did a knuckle knock of agreement with his fellow gangmember.

Sam's blood ran cold at the statement, at the venom in the gang member's tone when he spoke about wanting Dean dead. '_Messing these guys up won't help you get the person who hired them to kill Dean. Won't stop the next attempt on Dean's life. You need to walk away. Just walk away. Dean would __**want**__ you to walk away_.' "So if I wanted something …more permanent?" he asked, knew that he had to finish his cover story, had to be professional, no matter that he felt like the greenest novice, that his emotions were only hovering under the thinnest sheen of ice cold control.

"Satisfaction guaranteed," the dark haired kid assured, lifting his shirt to show the gun he had tucked in his waist.

"If I decide to seek your services…." Sam started.

"You know where to find us," the blonde finished.

Sam nodded and then he turned his back on his brother's shooters, let them get away with hurting his brother without retribution. And though that wasn't the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, it was close.

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"I'm relieved you're still in one piece," Cas admitted as Sam sank into the car's passenger seat.

"Someone hired them to make a run at Dean," Sam shared like it was a weight being lifted off his shoulder, that now someone else had to take the information and make sense of it.

"Hired?" Cas' voice rose in surprise. "I didn't know they were into that scene."

"Yeah, they're real entrepreneurs," Sam replied with scorn as his eyes held Cas' across the car's darkening interior. "Person that hired them didn't care if they killed Dean or not."

"Just cared that it seemed personal to Dean. Would throw us off thinking it was case related," Cas finished Sam's thoughts. "They say who hired them?"

Sam gave Cas an incredulously look. "I didn't get _that much_ goodwill from playing pool with them. So does that mean Dean was right about Mason being murdered?"

"Him and his gut instincts are mostly right," Cas admitted as he pulled out of the bar's parking lot and aimed the car for Dean's place.

"Which means that someone killed Mason and they aren't above hiring out to stop Dean from finding them," Sam concluded, unconsciously biting his lip with nervous tension.

"Yeah. Just another day in the life. And my old bureau friends think my life is _boring_ since I went into the private sector," ridicule thrummed through Cas' words.

Sam turned in the seat to study the Winchester Investigation's associate. "Wait. Bureau? So you were…."

"FBI," Cas supplied with a hint of pride.

Sam couldn't keep the surprise off his face. "You were a Fed and now you're working in my family's detective business?"

"I know, how far I've fallen," though his tone was depreciative, the other man was smiling.

"Did you…do you..…." Sam began, wondered how far the other man would allow him to push this particular issue.

Knowing what Sam really wanted to ask, if he regretted joining up with his brother, giving up the badge and pension for a business card and a dwindling credit rating, Cas gave Sam his answer. "I don't regret it. Not even on the bad days." Because crossing paths with Dean, it had changed him. Dean reminded him of why he signed up for the FBI in the first place, to help people, to save people, even if those people couldn't pay you a dime, didn't have any political leverage and didn't have the law on their side.

Giving a sharp nod, Sam accepted Cas' answer, could see by the look in the man's eyes that Cas wasn't just telling a tale for his employer's brother. Somehow, Sam knew in his heart that Cas would follow Dean into a burning building, probably had already. More than once.

And though it was the epitome of crazy, Sam knew in his heart that, in another life, in a life that he didn't live, that he hadn't chosen, it wasn't Cas running into those flames at Dean's side. It was him. It was always supposed to be him.

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TBC

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Thank you for reading and for all the wonderful support for this story! I'm having a blast reading your thoughts on how you like the story and where you think /want the storyline to head!

The next chapter might take a little longer to get posted. I almost have it tidied up and ready but there are a few scenes I need to flesh out.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5: Second Chances

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author Note: I don't think the investigation gets too far this chapter but there is some brotherly interaction.

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Chapter 5: Second Chances

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His pacing halted by the sound of his front door opening, Dean turned to find Sam and Cas entering. "Where have you two been ? You couldna called?" he bit out, doing a poor job of covering up his worry with belligerence.

"Sorry _Mrs_. Winchester," Cas drawled. "We were having too much fun and musta lost track of the time."

Ignoring Cas' wit, Dean demanded, "So what did you find out…"

"That your brother hustles pool almost as well as you do," Cas supplied, admiration in his tone.

Shooting a look to Cas, Sam asked, voice half way between annoyed and touched, "You were spying on me?"

Downplaying his actions and especially the emotions that lead to said actions, Cas retorted, "It's called having your back."

"Children, can we concentrate on who is out to kill me and why," Dean wearily interjected.

"The gang got hired to do the drive-by shooting," Sam revealed, the hardness in his eyes telling Dean just how his little brother felt about the gang's part time gig. "Strange thing is, they still got paid even though they didn't take you out."

Dean bit his lip in contemplation. "They tell you who purchased their services?"

"No," Sam disappointedly reported. With a bitter smile, he quirked, "I don't think that's something they tell on the first date."

Outwardly, Dean snorted "Funny," and on the inside, it was all appreciation for his brother's humor. He had forgotten what a smart aleck Sam was, that Sam had a talent for lightening his mood, had a knack for turning bad news into something that seemed trivial.

"We figure that this still has something to do with the Mason case. That they wanted to throw you off the track," Cas shared, his voice trailing off as Dean gave him an unreadable look.

At Cas' "_we_", astonished pleasure surged through Dean. Unless Cas now had multiple personalities, his "_we_" meant he and Sam were agreeing on something. It was a development Dean didn't know he was even rooting for until it happened. "So, it's getting real clear that Mason was murdered."

"So who benefits from his death?" Sam posed, wished that he had had more time to get to know the ins and outs of the file.

Cas sighed, sinking down onto the couch, he put his feet up on the coffee table. "That's it. No one. No life insurance claims payout because it was set up to look like a suicide, and his company shares will just be divided out among the primary shareholders."

Following Cas' lead, Sam entered the living room and claimed the chair Cas had earlier. "Any of them get controlling interest with his shares added to theirs?"

"Nope," Dean shot down, his own descent onto the couch slow and measured, told both spectators that he was in pain but wasn't about to tell them that. "But it's gotta be a corporate thing. You know, 'show me the money'?"

Cas shook his head, not in denial but hopelessness. "Yeah and there are lots of enemies and money to be made in the weapons industry. Doesn't really narrow down our search patterns."

But Sam's face creased with puzzlement as he looked to Dean. "So how does someone running in those circles know about your past with that gang? Can get that gang to do a hit? Those gang members aren't exactly the trusting type. If some guy in a thousand dollar suit came in there, they wouldn't do anything other than take his wallet and jewelry and, if they were in a good mood, shove him into the streets."

For a moment Dean looked stumped and then his eyes sparked. "Mason's dad. When he hired me, he said he checked into me, had some references of my work."

Cas picked up the lead. "So his investigation turned up the gang case? That case wouldn't be the strongest recommendation for you to handle a corporate murder," he sardonically commented.

"I like diversity," Dean muttered back a little hurt. "Maybe he appreciated that."

"And someone else appreciated your "diversity," Sam sourly pointed out, explained as Dean and Cas offered up matching looks of bewilderment. "Someone who realized they could _use_ the gang's hatred of you to their own advantage. Get the gang to make that hit on you."

"But Sam's right, someone running in Mason's circles wouldn't fit in well at the bar those tattooed, pierced, delinquents hang out at," Cas said, knew that, as much as they wanted the pieces to fit, they just weren't.

Straightening from his slouched position on the couch, Dean's smile grew expeditiously. "It's gotta be more like seven degrees of Kevin Bacon."

"Ok, you lost me," Cas tiredly admitted.

But Sam got his brother's meaning right away, excitedly joined in, "Right! It's an association of an association of an association who made the deal with the gang. Back so many links that they figure you won't trace it." But at the conclusion, he shared a cocky smile with his brother because one thing Winchesters were in spades was tenacious.

The energy zinging between the two brothers only made Cas more exhausted than he already was. Wearily covering his eyes, he leaned back in the couch and entreated, "Can't we just call it a night?"

"Thought you Feds never gave up the trail until you got your man," Dean teased, knew that would get at least a comeback from his friend.

Without moving an inch, Cas shot back, "That's the Canadian Mounties. And in case you forgot, I'm not a Fed anymore," a sting to the last declaration.

"Wow. You're grumpy," Dean muttered and that managed to animate Cas.

Sitting up, Cas lanced Dean with an incredulous look and his voice was a mixture of frustration and anger, "That couldn't be because I got no sleep last night because my best friend almost got himself killed."

Dean was man enough to admit when he was being a jerk. "Sorry," sympathy laced in the apology. Then taking in Cas' drained features and the bruises under Sam's eyes for the first time, he ran a hand through his hair. He felt like a fool, that it took Cas' unvarnished statement and the sight of Sam's exhaustion to show him that his brother and his friend were wiped out, had been worried about _him_, had run themselves ragged trying to protect his butt. "Look, go home, Cas. We'll start up again tomorrow morning."

But Cas immediately insisted, "I'll stay," some of the weariness fading away at the thought of Dean being without his backup.

"Sammy's here to watch my back, Cas," Dean reassured, didn't even give it a thought that Sam wouldn't stay with him.

For his part, Sam felt choked up by his brother's trust in him, that Dean was willing to be vulnerable around him, admit that he needed help and was accepting that help from him. He barely heard the rest of Dean's words to Cas.

"I really would love it if you were less grumpy tomorrow, so go home."

Eyes glittering at Dean, fighting off the hurt at being exiled, Cas granted, "Fine," before he turned to Sam, ordered more than announced, "His shoulder needs re-bandaged." He knew that because **he** had been the one at the hospital with Dean, **he**was the one that had paced the waiting room floor, praying that Dean _didn't die_. And it wasn't a family member, was **him** who Dean's doctor spoke to, reassured that Dean would live, outlined what Dean's care should consist of. Not Sam. Not Dean's own _brother_. Sam hadn't been there when Dean needed him…and some petty part of Cas hoped Dean still remembered that.

At Cas' instruction, Dean tersely stated, "I got it." He didn't need a nursemaid, certainly not two of them.

"No, I do," Sam vowed, his eyes sliding from the defiant set of Dean's features to Cas. Knew in his gut that the hardest sell on his competency to take care of Dean, it wasn't his brother. "I'll re-bandage it for him." For a moment, Sam feared that Cas would challenge his declaration, watched a myriad of emotions flicker in the other man's blue eyes before Cas looked away, looked to his brother but with his emotions safely checked again in his overhead compartment.

"Since the office is a little too open air even for my tastes, I hired a work crew to board it up. Figured we could worry about the new deco after we get the bulls-eye off your back," Cas announced, tried to instill indifference in his words, to not let on how his gut flopped every time he saw the bullet ridden office. That his initial reaction? It hadn't been all that dissimilar to Sam's. He had suffered his own mini panic attack…and that was _after_ he knew Dean was going to be alright. So walking into that office again, sans Dean, it wasn't high on his to-do list.

Gratitude for his best friend shone in Dean's eyes and his words, "Ah crap. I didn't even think about that. Cas…thanks, man. What would I…"

"Do without me? I shudder to think," Cas sardonically supplied but he couldn't help look fleetingly at Sam, wondered if that was something he would have to worry about, but in reverse. What would he do without Dean?

Missing the turmoil that was gathering in his friend's eyes, Dean shot back, "You done patting yourself on the back?"

Cas' smile was small, almost sad. "Yeah. See ya in the morning," and he turned to go, couldn't quite make that first step until Sam nodded, gave his promise that he had Dean's back, that Dean was in good hands for the night. Then Cas walked out of Dean's house, left Dean in his brother's care.

Suddenly Cas hated whoever had put the hit out on Dean for wholly different reasons, reasons that were selfish and petty and hurt too badly to tramp down just because he knew he should.

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With Cas' departure, Sam felt a thread of tension settle in the house as he and his brother were finally alone. Alone for the first time in four years.

They ended up breaking the uncomfortable silence at the same moment.

"Spare bedroom's upstairs to the right."

"You want me to help with your shoulder now…"

It made both of them smirk and Dean graciously waved Sam on to speak first, a kindness he probably wouldn't have done had he heard his brother's question.

Somehow it was harder the second time around to get the offer out. "Yeah, I thought…you know..your shoulder. Cas said…."

"Cas was being a overprotective chick," Dean cut in but there was affection in his tone for that "overprotective chick". "I'll rewrap it after my shower."

"Shower? Are you sure you should be taking a shower? What did the doctor say?" Sam worriedly spewed question after question. Dean's look, a look he couldn't interpret, had him sputtering to a stop. "What?"

Dean shook his head but there was a small smile playing on his lips. _Concerned Sam_, it was someone he hadn't seen in years, not since they were both kids. Since they realized that they had to take care of each other, that their father, he wasn't to be relied upon. Not like they could each other.

'_How wrong I was_,' Dean sorrowfully thought, had learned just how wrong when Sam left, got away from him for good the first chance he got. And after that, his little brother couldn't be bothered to check in to see if was even _alive_ once a year.

Watching the smile on Dean's face fall away, Sam felt his throat constrict, wondered what he had done wrong, how his brother could look at him with affection one moment and cold disappointment the next. "Dean, what? What's wrong?" But the smile his brother turned on, it was painfully fake.

"Nothing. Just tired. Don't need to fill out another medical questionnaire, thanks very much. Like I said, spare bedroom's upstairs to the left. If you want to hit the shower first, it's the second door on the right…" Dean provided, starting to push himself off the couch and slowly gain his feet. He almost flinched when his brother's 6'4" frame was suddenly standing too, entirely too close.

"I can help you Dean," Sam gently insisted, prayed that Dean would stop being so stubborn, admit what was obvious, that he was in pain, that he was beyond exhausted, that he was almost swaying on his feet.

"I'm a big boy, Sammy. Been taking a shower and tending to my own boo boos for a long while now. But thanks," Dean sarcastically drawled, began to step away from Sam, from the worried look in Sam's eyes that he couldn't trust. But God help him, he wanted to. Wanted to give Sam a hug, wanted to tell his brother he had missed him, to believe that this wasn't just some guilt/scared reactive moment, that Sam wanted them to be brothers again, family again.

But he had had similar foolish, _weak _thoughts before: that he and his father could go on after Sam left, that their family could survive the loss of one member, that Winchester and Sons Investigations would go on as it had, simply dropping the plural. But instead, his father had dropped the "Sons", as if one son, the son he was stuck with, wasn't worthy of that inclusive, wasn't even worthy to be made a partner, was some underling, some slave that did all the work, paid all the bills and shouldered all the blame when things went into the crapper.

When Sam's hand touched his shoulder, Dean jerked away, took a step back, hated that it was a near stumble, that instead of enticing Sam to keep his distance his brother stepped closer was reaching for him again. But he knocked Sam's hand off course, made the boundaries clear. But his demand, it came out as a broken plea. "Don't." As if he were in pain, as if his 'don't' meant 'please'. What was worse was the look in Sam's eyes, the pity and the hurt.

"Just…don't," Dean managed with less heartbreak and more strength, more threat. And then he stepped by Sam and headed for the stairs, had played the gracious host as far as he could. He was going to take a shower, hoped the water was hot enough to burn away a layer of skin, of emotions and memories and hopes that were never to be realized. And then he was going to bed, was going to crawl under the covers and shut out the world, brother and all.

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Sam only drew in a breath after Dean was up the stairs, was out of hearing, didn't know that his little brother's breath was more sob than air. Tightly closing his eyes, he felt the prick of tears behind his eyelids, felt something heavy and dark lodge in his chest, sending an ache through him that had him sitting down suddenly on the couch.

Dean had recoiled away from him, had ordered, practically _begged_ him not to touch him. Dean, his unbreakable, strong, hard as nails brother. '_How evil must I be that he's flinching away from me? How badly must he hurt, have I hurt him that he won't even let me help him when he needs it?_' And every single answer, it was there in Dean's eyes, in the raw tremor in his brother's voice.

Bowing over, holding his head in his hands, Sam cursed. How many signs did he need that he wasn't wanted there, that Dean didn't want him with him? That whatever brotherhood they had, it had died…four years ago. Now he was a stranger, **worse**, he was someone Dean refused to be vulnerable around, that Dean didn't _trust_ to be vulnerable around. '_I'm hurting him when all I wanted to do was help him, protect him, keep him safe.' _

He choked on the exhale, because he knew what he had to do, what Dean wanted him to do: Leave. He had to stop hurting Dean, to not reopen the wounds of four years ago, to finally do what he had doggedly refused to do even at Stanford: let his family go.

Standing up, he didn't bother to wipe away the tear that overran its boundaries, was a man on a mission. Was going to do the best thing he could for Dean, would find Cas' number somewhere around the house and tell Cas he was leaving, to come watch out for Dean, to do what Dean refused to let him do: help him, protect him, save him.

Off to the right of the kitchen, he found his brother's office, the desk surprisingly clear of clutter, had only a few sheets of paper gracing its surface. Sinking into the chair, Sam opened a drawer, searched for the phone book he hoped his paper-oriented brother kept. With grim satisfaction, he pulled the book free, he at least knew that much about his brother. But something caught his eye. Under the book something stared up at him. A color printout embossed with a word that made his breath hitch: Stanford.

Pulling the paper free of the drawer, Sam read the headline and nearly lost it right there.

"Stanford Graduates Raise the Bar of Celebratory Parties…"

And there, in the background of the two drunken classmates who drew the photographer's interest, Sam stood, nursing his beer like he had most of that night.

Looking back in the drawer, Sam saw that there was another picture, of him sporting his hat and gown.

Dean _cared_. No matter how things had fallen out between them four years ago, no matter how tense and awkward things were between them now, his brother cared about him…was maybe even proud of him.

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Towel wrapped around his waist and his hair still damp, Dean entered his bedroom and came up short, hadn't expected to see his brother calmly, patiently sitting on his bed, seemingly waiting for him. "Sam, what…"

Sam picked up the bandages and prescription painkiller pill bottle and waved them a little in the air. "Found these."

Dean's jaw clenched, "Sam, I said…."

But Sam cut him off, his voice not demanding but gentle, understanding, beseeching, "I know. But I'm asking you to change your mind. Let me try to fix what I broke."

"Sam you don't…" Dean began but Sam's earnest declaration silenced him.

"Yes. I do," Sam huskily insisted, his eyes bleeding with regret, with need. "Please, Dean. Give me a chance….." '_to be your brother again, to heal the wounds I inflicted on you, on me, to help you, to stay at your side for just a little while.'_

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and your reviews for last chapter!

Have a great evening!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6: Renewals and Replacements

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author Note: Sorry for the delay in posting but my computer **died** on me! And it took with its dying breath my latest updates for this story because unfortunately, I didn't backup this particular story like I usually do. I did have a print out of the upcoming chapters so all was not lost, thank goodness. So I begged a computer off my mother and retyped the chapter you're about to read. Please forgive any typos as my 'typing as I compose a story' is a whole lot better than my 'typing from a printed page' skills. Thanks for patiently waiting while I dealt with my technical difficulties! Hope some part of this chapter was worth the wait for you.

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Chapter 6: Renewals and Replacements

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Driving one handedly, Cas dug into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone he had lifted from Dean's house. Felt a flash of guilt, of shame even as he divided his attention between road and hitting the 'saved messages' option on the phone. It wasn't his business, Dean had made that clear, that his family, his brother, his father, they were off limits. And once upon a time, Cas would have never even conceived of going against anyone's wishes. But Dean had changed that, had changed him, had made him see that the world wasn't black and white, that there were grays and they were everywhere. Were especially evident when it came to doing the right thing, even if the world said it was the wrong thing. Like saving Dean's life when the Bureau set out to destroy the detective, like butting into Dean's family matters when Dean's happiness was at stake.

Resolved, Cas accessed the voice messages, found that there wasn't one but two hidden in the phone's records. Opting to hear the first message, he noted the call came in that morning. Though he expected to hear John Winchester's voice, it still surprised him to have the anger, the disappointment in the familiar baritone fill the car's interior like the man was right there, dressing down his son in person.

"Getting yourself on the news, is that your idea of good publicity, Dean? Between this and the licensing screw up, you're doing a bang up job. I wouldna let you in charge of the agency if I knew you'ld run it in the ground."

And that was it. That was all the man had to say to his _son_, his son that had nearly died, could have been killed.

Whatever dislike Cas had harbored for John Winchester, though silently for Dean's sake, it swiftly molded into hatred, made his grip on the phone and the steering wheel nearly crushing. He would have done anything to spare Dean the pain of hearing that particular message, of having proof what a SOB his father was, that his father cared more about his agency's reputation than he did his own son's life. If John Winchester was there in person, Cas wasn't all too sure he wouldn't have shot hm.

Looking down to the phone he still gripped, the notification of the second message taunted him, made him give into the small sliver of hope that John had called back, got his head out of his butt and told Dean he was worried about him, that it was fear talking before. With trepidation, he accessed the second message, soon found an unfamiliar voice echoing into the car's interior.

"Mr. Winchester, this is Attorney Marcus. It's urgent we speak. I've been unsuccessful at reaching your father and I'm assuming so have you. Without your father's signature on the renewal application for your agency license, your license will terminate on Monday. If you were a partner in the business, or had power of attorney for your father, we could move forward but as the law stands, only his signature can activate the renewal."

"And…I researched the other ramifications. Because the license was being scrutinized for wrongful practices, your personal detective license will also terminate on Monday if the agency license fails to be renewed. I…I've never seen a case like this, Mr. Winchester. Whoever persuaded the review board to start this investigation into your agency and into you personally, they are powerful and well connected. The chances of getting the agency or your license re-instated if they should be terminated…I don't have high hopes. So, please make every effort to find your father, to stress to him the direness of the situation, that his signature can head all this off."

"You have my personal cell number, call me when you have the signed form. And Mr. Winchester…Dean, I remember what you did for my sister and if there was a way I could do more I would. Well, I hope to hear from you soon."

If the first message had filled the air with anger, the second had filled it with hopelessness. The agency license was being reviewed? For _**wrongful practices?**_! Was going to be terminated on Monday if John Winchester didn't make his appearance, sign one lousy document? Dean's own detective license was in jeopardy too? It was almost more than Cas could process, explained Dean's distant behavior the prior week.

'_And I criticized Sam for not knowing what was going on with Dean and I'm right here and I didn't know a thing.' _Hurt and frustration and concern for his best friend vied for domination. He couldn't believe that Dean didn't trust him enough to share the burden with him, that Dean thought he had to handle things all on his own. But Cas knew that there was more than stubbornness prompting Dean's silence. It was loyalty to his father, that he didn't want to malign his father, even to him. _'As if I hadn't already figured out John's measure all on my own,' _Cas thought bitterly, couldn't believe Dean thought John deserved to be defended. That Dean would still defend his father after everything…and Sam, when he had had the chance, had not raised one defense for his father. The sharp differences in the brothers was becoming obvious…as well the certainly that neither son was like their father.

Suddenly John's words replayed in Cas' head. _'..the licensing screw up…' _John **knew** what was hanging in the balance, his agency, his son's future. And he didn't seem to care, was blaming it all on Dean, was going to do what Cas had seen him do before: let Dean get hurt to prove some point, to prove that he was right and Dean was wrong, to try and prove that Dean _needed_ him, couldn't make it alone.

Cursing, Cas punched in a phone number in the cell, was greeted by a gruff, unwelcoming voice by the second ring.

"Winchester, whatever you need, the answer's no," Uriel, Cas' ex-FBI partner growled.

"It's Cas and the answer is yes because you owe me," Cas bit out coldly, wasn't willing to play nice, not right then.

"Owe you for what?" Uriel challenged, his true caller's identification not warming up his tone by even a degree.

"For not turning you in for your sideline deals with Assistant Director Raphael," Cas showed the cards he had long held in reserve, waiting to play them for a good cause. As far as he was concerned, there was no better cause than his best friend's well being. "So unless you want to make that phone call, you're going to do me a favor."

Uriel sighed, knew that Cas had him over a barrel. "What's the favor?"

"Find John Winchester," Cas said, knew that his anger was tainting his words but he couldn't shut himself down, not right then, not about this.

"You're sidekick's dad? What, are they having a family squabble? Are you their personal counselor? You always did like the psycho babble," Uriel returned, derision strong in his tone.

Gritting his teeth, Cas refused to raise to the bait, to give Uriel any insight into Dean's personal affairs, or his own. "Find him by the weekend or you'll be bouncing at night clubs."

Backed into a corner, Uriel begrudgingly agreed. "You want him brought in, arrested or simply to call his darling son?"

"Just find out where he is and then keep track of him. Call me with his location as soon as you have it."

"I do this…."

"You'll have my undying gratitude…" Cas snarked back before he disconnected the call. Hoped that Uriel was as good an agent as he always thought he was because , yes, John Winchester was a deadbeat Dad but he was a first rate detective. When he didn't want to be found…he usually wasn't.

Suddenly Cas had an image of John signing the licensing renewal application…in his own blood. Even he knew that mental picture shouldn't have put a smile on his face.

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"Please. Give me a chance…" though the words were now Sam's, Dean remembered that they had once been his own. That he had asked, no _begged_ Sam to just talk things out, to let him work on mending the rift between their family, that he would get their Dad to loosen up the iron fisted rule he had on his sons. Wanted to prove to sixteen year old Sam that he had other options, that he didn't have to run away again, to Flagstaff or anywhere else. That all he needed, he already had. In his family.

But Sam's reply rang in Dean's head, tore into his heart, like Sam had spoken those same words all over again.

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_"Chance to do what, Dean? Make things better? Change Dad? Bring Mom back to life?"_

_The last had been like a stake into Dean's heart, twisted his fondest wish into something dark, something wounding. And he returned Sam's venom with his own. "You know what, next time ya wanna go, wanna find that perfect family for yourself, I won't stop you."_

_"Another family doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to not be this one!" Sam had shouted back._

_Dean had smiled that bitter smile of his, the smile he reserved for lowlife criminals. "I keep lying to myself, telling myself that it's Dad you hate, that it's this life you hate, but it's not, is it Sam?"_

_Sam didn't even raise a denial, stood there in stunned silence, as if he didn't think his secret would ever come out._

_Reading Sam's silence as confirmation, Dean shook his head and walked away, didn't need to hear the words Sam had the mercy to not say aloud._

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The lesson was just as hard learned the second time as the first for Dean.

Turning his back on Sam, going to his bureau, Dean pulled out his sleepwear before he finally replied to Sam's entreaty, "A chance for what, Sam?" he harshly demanded, raising his eyes to the mirror, caught Sam's flinch in his brother's reflection.

He didn't deserve for this to be easy, Sam knew that. But he had hoped that Dean would make it anyways, would offer his little brother amnesty like he had their whole lives. '_Until you broke his trust…and his heart_.'

Giving a deadly bark of laughter, Dean shook his head. "Same old Sammy."

And Sam didn't know how to refute that, if he had changed, how he had changed, or the ways Dean wanted him to change. "Tell me what…."

"I want?"Dean cynically finished his brother's statement, his eyes opaque as they met Sam's in the reflection of the mirror. "Like that ever mattered to you. Or to Dad." Slamming the drawer closed, with clothing in hand, he headed for the bathroom, thought the idea of drowning himself in a water-boarding shower incident sounded like a great way to wrap up the day.

Afraid that if he left Dean leave now, in the middle of this argument, that it would be a repeat of that night more than four years ago, would be an end to what could have been, Sam surged to his feet, growled at his brother's back, "I'm not a friggin' mind reader, Dean! You never told me what you wanted!"

Dean halted in the doorway but didn't turn around, clenched his jaw so hard that he couldn't talk for a full minute. When he did, his words were quiet but harsh, "I wanted my family, wanted it to stay together. I wanted something you never did."

The declaration stole the air from the room, had Sam bowing his head, physically retreating from the dead on hit. But his head snapped up at the sound of the bathroom door clinking shut, of his brother shutting him out, probably forever.

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Spent, emotionally and physically, Dean leaned against the bathroom vanity, felt the room spin, vaguely wondered if it was a manifestation of his world crumbling all around him.

He hated that he had given Sam evidence of just how badly he had decimated him when he left him behind, that he had revealed just how needy he was, how weak he was, wanting what was never to be, wasn't worth having in the first place.

He startled upright as the bathroom door swung open, at the sight of Sam filling the doorway. Felt his breath trap in his chest at Sam's anguished expression, an expression that was much too much like the one his brother had worn when his big brother went off to grade school and left him behind.

As he pushed off the vanity, Dean's vision swam. Instinctively, he reached out a hand to grab for the wall, to stop his collapse like he had had to do in the shower, to support himself like he had had to do his whole life. Knew just as surely that he wasn't strong enough, wasn't really ever strong enough on his own, that, no matter how deeply he wished it weren't true, he _needed_ people.

Stunned that his big brother was collapsing, Sam almost reacted too late, almost moved too slow. "Dean!" he shouted out in panic as he dove forward, wrapped his arms around his brother. He stumbled back a step as all of his brother's weight descended on him but Sam's strength held, for both of them.

Drawing Dean forward, to rest against him, Sam felt his brother's wet hair settle against his chest, heard Dean's ragged breath and reflexively tightened his hold on his brother. But a moment later, Dean's hands slide between them, pushed against his chest, sought to tear them apart, regardless that Sam's strength was the only thing keeping Dean on his feet.

"Dean, stop!" Sam intended the words to come out as a stringent order but instead they conveyed the plea they were at their core, begged for what he could not voice. For an end to the detachment between them, to the distance Dean maintained between them even when they were as physically close as they were in that moment. An end to the separation that, yes, he had once craved and now he fervently despised.

But Dean, he wasn't swayed by little brother's pleas, not anymore. Had learned that heeding them, it could cost him everyone, had once already. "Let me go Sam!" he growled, raising his head from his brother's chest but not high enough to meet Sam's eyes, keeping his hands pressed against his brother's chest, knowing that even if he fell on his butt, it would be better than being beholden to Sam. Of giving Sam the keys to his heart again.

Afraid that Dean would begin to struggle in earnest, wanted to be free of his touch desperately enough that he would risk inflaming his bullet wound, Sam maneuvered Dean down onto the closed toilet seat and came to a crouch in front of his brother before he released his hold on his brother. But Dean wouldn't meet his eyes, slid back on the seat as if he craved as much space between them as he could.

Starkly, Sam knew that he wasn't going to regain Dean's trust, worse, was going to lose Dean's residual affection for him if he didn't do something, didn't talk about the elephant in the room, didn't tell his brother how much he had missed him. Sam drew in a shaky breath, knew that first, he had to tell the truth, whether it condemned him or not.

"I was wrong for leaving like I did," Sam hoarsely began, watched Dean stiffen but make no move to raise his head, to face him. "I was wrong for cutting you off. I was…_so wrong_," his voice cracking so badly on that declaration the it took him a moment to get the rest of his words out, "…for thinking that I could find a better brother."

And Sam's traitorous thoughts immediately went to Cas, knew that Dean had done what he couldn't, would never be able to do: find a replacement for him, find a more loyal, more affectionate brother than the one he had.

In a tone brimming with self hatred, Sam chided, "Dumbest thing I could ever **try** to do." But Dean, he wasn't jumping on the 'we-hate-Sam' bandwagon, had yet to even move, let alone acknowledge his brother's words. It made Sam's swallow hard consecutively, try to reforge his crumbling walls. "I don't know how to make things right. Maybe they can't be right…but I want to try. I will take whatever you give to me, Dean."

But Dean, he wasn't giving him anything, was like a living, breathing statue. Action born out of fear as much as desperation, Sam caught his brother's chin in his grasp, raised his brother's eyes to his own and focused on the objective that had to come first, before him, before his own happiness. "But me helping you, making sure you don't get yourself killed, that's not up for debate, Dean. So…" his voice gentled and the grip on his brother's face eased until it was more caressing than imprisoning, "…don't pass out on me. Especially since you're wearing just a towel. I'm not that into brotherly bonding."

Against his own wishes, Dean found himself smiling, giving up a weak but real laugh to Sam. "You always were the squeamish one."

Instead of anger, Sam responded with a wide smile as he slid his hand free of his brother's face. "You mean I was the smart one." Snagging Dean's pile of clothing off the vanity, he tossed them into Dean's lap. "Now put your pants on and call me with you're decent," he ordered as he stood up, turned to give his brother some privacy .

"Decent in appearance or moral standing?" Dean taunted to his brother's back, was pleased when Sam turned around, lobbied back, "Let's work on the possible: Appearance Only."

Then Sam pulled the door shut on Dean's fake scowl, well mostly shut. He left the door open a crack, space enough that he could hear his brother's breathing from his leaning position against the wall outside the bathroom.

"Perverts listen at bathroom doors…" Dean called out even as he struggled into his clothing, had to hold onto the vanity to make sure he didn't topple off the seat when he got lightheaded. Friggin' bullet wounds, friggin' knocks to the head.

"…and little brothers who don't want to peel their big brothers off bathroom floors. You dressed yet? And don't put on your shirt," Sam said through the cracked doorway.

"Bossy much?" Dean grumbled as he came to a stand, fully clothed from his waist down.

"Dean?" Sam called worriedly as he turned toward the door, was ready to bolt inside because Dean's grumble had sounded weak to him. His heart rate settled down when the door opened far enough to reveal a pale but standing Dean. Stepping into the doorway again, he latched onto his brother's arm and tugged Dean forward.

Once free of the bathroom's small confines, Dean shook off Sam's hold, made his own way into the bedroom where the medical supplies were. Intended to sink down into the only chair in the room but Sam caught his elbow.

"Come on, you're getting in bed," Sam carefully stated, tried to not let it sound like an order but an entreaty, a firm on. When Dean docilely allowed him to lead him to the bed, didn't even gift him with a smart aleck comeback, Sam felt concern instead of gratefulness. It seemed to say a lot about how poorly his brother was feeling. Before Dean could occupy the bed, Sam darted in his brother's path and turned down the bedcovers.

At his brother's attentive display of care, Dean watched Sam's profile, started to seriously re-examine his little brother. When Sam caught his look and tilted his head in a look of confusion, Dean didn't speak, simply climbed into the bed and rested his back against the head board. Fought to not sigh in relief at the soft contours settled under his abused, worn out body because the truth was, the shower hadn't done wonders for him, had instead hammered into him the knowledge that everything hurt, from his aching head, to his throbbing shoulder, down his tingling arm and radiated through his spine. If he was a car, he would have considered himself totaled and go for the cash payout.

But the intense way his little brother was eyeing him up, Dean didn't think he was pulling much over on his brother. Kid could still see through his bullcrap like an expert. But that didn't mean he was going to give an inventory of his war wounds. He still had his pride, mostly.

When Dean remained silent, refused to admit what Sam could tell just by the way his brother moved, the haze in his green eyes, Sam focused on the stitched bullet wound on his brother's left shoulder. Though bullet wounds weren't commonplace for them, bruises and cracked/broken bones were, he didn't shy away from inspecting the wound, gently skimmed his fingers over the stitches, over his brother's damaged skin. He had to reconcile himself with the knowledge that his brother had been shot, that a bullet had been lodged there, so close to organs that wouldn't have been able to endure the abuse. The wound he saw, it went much deeper than he wanted to contemplate. Felt a bit lightheaded himself with the irrefutable evidence that mere inches had kept him from arriving in Kansas to bury his brother.

Noting the color draining from Sam's features, Dean almost asked if Sam was alright, almost stepped into his big brother protective role. But didn't. Stopped himself. Didn't cross the line that Sam had draw in the sand and, he knew better than to think Sam's presence, changed. Sam wasn't interested in being taken care of, especially not by him. He almost startled when his brother's troubled eyes met his own.

When he finally managed to get his throat to work, for his brain to kick in again, resolved to not dwell on the what-could-have-beens, Sam said, "It hurt as bad as we always thought it would?" because even as boys, he and Dean had known the risks of their father's profession, of the profession that would one day be theirs.

Dean shrugged his shoulders as if to deny Sam's insinuation that it hurt at all. He watched as Sam's mouth formed an angry line at his self abuse.

It was just like Dean to deny anything hurt, that he _could_ be hurt. And the macho deflection, it pissed Sam off, that Dean couldn't admit he wasn't a robot, that he was human, and he was in pain. Dean could admit emotionally pain, yeah, but never physical, as if he thought he needed to put up that façade to even things out. '_You don't need to pretend for me,_' Sam wanted to say but knew Dean would not accept the words in the vein they would be given, would posture more, not less.

So instead of words, Sam used gestures, was as gentle as he knew how to be as he applied the prescription creams on his brother's wound, hated that Dean remained stoic, pretended that he wasn't there, that the pain didn't exist. He wished he knew what to say, how to make the years apart fall away, to ease the tension humming through his brother's body, to lighten the darkness in his brother's eyes as they watched him. But he didn't. Mending relationship, that was Dean's specialty, not his.

It was too bad that Dean had written their relationship off.

Taping the gauze pad over the wound, Sam reached behind his brother's head, held up his hand in surrender as Dean jerked away. "Easy, just checking how that hard head of yours is doing." Knew by Dean's narrowed gaze that his brother didn't think he would put two and two together and realize that he had taken a hit to the head when he got shot. Quietly he said, "I visited the office remember, saw the blood on the floor and unless you decided to take a nap _after_ getting shot, the impact took you to the ground." '_And you didn't get back up,_' that truth still scaring him like nothing had in the last four years.

Ruefully, Dean rubbed the back of his head, smirked tiredly, "Should invest in nice thick carpet."

Carefully pushing his brother's hand aside, Sam easily found the swelling on the back of his brother's head, detected no stitches which meant no open wounds. That didn't mean the hit hadn't been hard, wasn't contributing to what had happened in the bathroom, of his brother's near black out. "Some ice might still do some good, bring down more of the swelling."

"You taking nursing lessons at Stanford too, Sammy? Gotta tell you that white, it's not your best color…" Dean said, wasn't sure if he was making things better or worse by unleashing his brand of humor.

At Dean's taunt, Sam didn't even try to mute the beaming smile emerging on his face. He saw the jeering for what it was: fondness and a very small but very real indication that a pardon wasn't out of the question. Proved what he should have remembered all along, that Dean didn't give up on family, on the people he cared about, that wasn't who Dean was. That, for all the ways that things had changed between them, that they both had changed, Dean was still his big brother and Dean wasn't going to give that title up, not without a fight.

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	7. Chapter 7: Contracting the Noose

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author Note: Thanks for everyone's well wishes for my computer situation! The bad news is my computer is a large paperweight. The good news is that the hard drive info was recoverable! So, this chapter comes to you from my new computer.

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Chapter 7: Contracting the Noose

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A sound woke Sam with a jolt, had him sitting up and grabbing Cas' gun from under his pillow. And there it was again, movement from downstairs. Heart pounding, he crossed the room and listened at the doorway, could hear the creak of footsteps on the lower floor.

Entering the hall, gun in hand, he didn't head downstairs, instead he slipped down the corridor and stepped into Dean's room, found his tension drop at least forty percent at the sight of Dean peacefully asleep in bed. Hair tuffed up and curled in on himself, his big brother looked far younger than he was. Backing out of the room, Sam closed the door, was determined that whoever was in the house, they weren't getting to his brother.

Slipping down the hallway and creeping down the stairs barefoot, making absolutely no sound, he froze on the last step, sought out the location of the noise he heard. Kitchen. It was coming from Dean's kitchen. Tightening a steady but clammy hand around the gun, he controlled his breathing before he ran into the open area of the kitchen with a growl of "Don't move!" on his lips…that never broke the sound barrier.

Not when his intruder turned out to be Cas.

Hurriedly jerking the gun down from its bead on Cas, Sam hissed, "I almost shot you!"

Without turning around to face his would-be killer, Cas pulled a pan out from a cupboard, unperturbedly refuted, "Yeah, not even close. So how's sleeping beauty?"

"Still out," Sam exhaled, his adrenaline fading fast, making his legs weak at the near catastrophe. He _was_ rusty. Sinking into a chair by the bar, he watched Cas as he prepared breakfast, noted that Cas didn't search around for any ingredients or equipment, knew right where everything was. "I take it this isn't your first pow wow here," he ventured, hoped his tone didn't come out as surly as the speculation had played in his head.

Cas sent Sam a smirk over his shoulder. "Not by a long shot. The office is great for meeting clients but Dean works better outside the box."

"Always did," Sam quietly agreed with a smile, fondly recalled how much trouble that trait of his brother's had caused them from time to time. A moment later, he sobered, pinned Cas with his gaze and asked, "And my Dad?" Before he could fully read Cas' expression, the man turned around, put his focus on the eggs sizzling in the pan.

"Likes playing lone wolf more than being in the office at all," Cas supplied, hoped the condemnation didn't carry in his tone. Didn't need Sam deciding that now was the time to defend his father, couldn't stomach that, not after hearing the message that Dean's dear old dad had left for his wounded son.

Sam read between the lines, had honed that instinct as a kid, had to with Dean's sometimes tightlipped approach to his feelings. "Lone wolf…like he and Dean don't usually work cases together?"

Surprised by Sam's insight, Cas turned around, faced Dean's brother as he made his reply. "Rarely since I came on board."

Sam's jaw clenched at the news. When he had left for college he had thought Dean would have their father watching his back, that their father would just transfer all his protective instincts to his remaining son. He never thought his father would toss those instincts out the window. "And right now he's where?" his voice tight with condemnation.

"Where he has been for the past year and half," Cas answered even as he swiveled around, moved the eggs around in the pan. "On the trail of your mother's killer."

Sam's teeth grinded together and his jaw nearly locked up. He had hoped that his Dad had given up that obsession. '_Like you hoped he had Dean's back. Guess you were wrong on both accounts…on all accounts.' _ Needing to gather all the incriminating evidence, to know just how pissed he should be at his father, he asked aloud, a dangerous edge vibrating in the words, "And he didn't return your call? Didn't call Dean since he's been shot?"

Cas kept his back to Sam as he hedged, "I think he called Dean," his wooden tone would have had Dean giving him that 'now tell me the rest' look. He didn't look to Sam to see if it was a Winchester trait, knew that, as impassive as his tone had been, his expression was not. That it might telegraph to Sam just how much he friggin' hated John Winchester right then. That he had disliked the man for the way he treated Dean for a long while but this…this was the last stray. And part of him wanted Sam to know all the sordid details, to know that yeah, his old man was worth leaving behind…but Dean wasn't. Instead he bit back the hatred rimmed words that were running through his head. '_Yeah, your Dad called Dean to ream him out for creating bad press for the agency, for getting himself shot, for the agency being on the verge of going under.' _

Reading the tension in Cas' back, in the curtness of the other man's reply, Sam knew that the sharing portion of their breakfast was over.

"Make mine over-easy," Dean's voice startled Sam as he entered the room, claimed a chair to Sam's right. Cas didn't miss a beat, wasn't surprised by Dean's appearance, or even his request.

"Scrambled or up. I don't do anything half way," Cas shot down Dean's appeal as he kept his content smile hidden from the brothers.

"Up," Dean grumbled, reaching for the coffee pot with his left hand before he was brutally reminded that that shoulder was experiencing spotty service.

Watching Dean's grimace and his grab for the coffee derailed by pain, Sam hurriedly intervened. Grabbing the coffee pot, he poured a mug of coffee and deposited it in front of his brother. But he purposely didn't give Dean eye contact, didn't want his brother thinking it was a pity move, that he was watching his every move, gauging his every reaction…like he was.

Pouring two more mugs of coffee, Sam slid one toward Cas and took a healthy swallow from his own mug. "Any beneficial discoveries to get the day started?" he asked, eyed Cas' back, had a suspicion that Cas was holding something back, hadn't just gone home and hit the hay the night before.

At Sam's question, Dean's eyebrow rose in surprise and he tracked Sam's focus to Cas. "Cas, you got something to share with the class?"

"No," was Cas' clipped reply but he didn't face his audience, didn't know that the two brothers were exchanging skeptical glances behind his back.

"Un huh, really convincing…" Dean sarcastically drawled, eyes searing into the back of his best friend's head. "You want to try that again, maybe the truth this time around."

Cursing himself for being so transparent to even a stranger like Sam Winchester, Cas faced Dean, knew that if he kept quiet, didn't show all his cards, Dean would think he was betraying him. And that was the farthest thing from the truth.

Abandoning the breakfast on the stove, Cas stalked out of the kitchen, heard Dean's surprised call of his name as he walked out the front door.

"Cas?" Whatever Dean expected, it wasn't Cas walking away. Cas telling him to mind his own business, telling him he was getting paranoid, ok, but to just bail on him…head for the door? For all the walls he had erected, reinforced, it just took this moment to teach Dean some brutal truths: he had no defense against an abandonment by Cas, against the hurt of his only friend leaving him high and dry, of the one person, the _only_ person he risked trusting turning against him.

Coming off the chair, Dean started after Cas, was prepared to do what he always did: try to keep his family, his friends with him. Would do everything short…and not short of begging to stop that loss, to keep that treasured part of his soul intact.

Before Dean even took a half step toward the front door, Cas was blowing back into the house and making a beeline for the kitchen. He did a handoff with Dean as he passed him, resumed his chef function.

Dropping his eyes, Dean paled at what Cas had slipped into his hand. A cell phone. More specifically, Dean's cell phone. Fisting the phone in his hand, Dean slowly turned to Cas, was treated to his friend's back as Cas slid the eggs onto plates. "Why?" he growled, felt the sharp sting of betrayal, roiling anger that Cas had gone behind his back, had stuck his nose in business that wasn't his.

Stunned at the happenings of the last few minutes, Sam sat in silence, marked the anger on Dean's face and the fear in Cas' as the former FBI agent faced Dean. He wondered if he was watching the end of their friendship. "I have no idea what's going on but let's just talk about this…" he arbitrated, found, to his surprise, that he didn't want Dean's friendship with Cas to tank, not if it hurt his brother. But it was like he didn't exist, felt like he was trying to mediate a gun fight in the middle of a dusty frontier town.

Setting the plates in front of Sam and Dean with more force than care, Cas met Dean's furious gaze, soon discovered it wasn't so much furious as hurt. And that was so much worse.

It made Cas' first words come out more gentle than he intended. "Because you wouldn't talk about it." But then his tone shifted from quiet reasoning to a shout, his concern fading away to be eclipsed by his frustration. "Because I knew you'ld take whatever crap **he** said and think you deserved it. Because you ask for help for other people, to help solve other people's problems but never your own."

The air was almost too thick to draw a breath and Sam knew, just _knew_, that the "he" Cas spoke about was their father, that Cas knew the contents of his brother and father's latest conversation. And he didn't, was again the third man out…in his own family. Coming to his feet, he joined the fray, "Alright, someone tell me what's going on. Dean? Cas?"

Tossing the cellphone on the bar beside his plate, Dean reclaimed his seat. "Breakfast, that's what's going on," he deadpanned. Then, turning a bogus smile up at Sam, he lamely joked, "Most important meal of the day. Now sit down and let's eat. I'm starving."

Sam tried to catch Cas' eyes but the other man wasn't blinking from his focus on Dean, was standing there, waiting, for what Sam didn't exactly know. Until he saw it, until he watched as Dean's eyes rose to Cas and his brother nodded to the chair beside him, invited, no, ordered Cas to take his seat, to pretend that whatever just happened didn't happen.

Wearing a look that was a cross between wholehearted relief and sad defeat, Cas nodded and then he claimed the chair at Dean's side, began to quietly eat.

Realizing that he had to play the game, had to bid his time to make his inquiries, Sam sat down at Dean's other side, picked up his fork and started in on his eggs. But Cas' words wouldn't leave him alone, had him speculating on what lay hidden on the cell phone's message log, a cell phone that was within his long arm's reach…but might as well be at the bottom of the sea. Just like Dean. His brother was right there beside him, but at the moment, his brother was locked down inside himself, was the Fort Knox of emotional walls, felt further away right then than he had been even the past four years.

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If breakfast was a somber affair, the research portion of the day was even more restrained. They had decided to split up the research, to divide and conquer. A decision that, of course, had been Dean's. All Dean's. And Sam suspected it was his brother's way of making sure that he didn't have to talk to either of his house guests.

Sam wasn't sure if he was happy because he finally traced a link to the gang and Kenvert or just because he had a reason to break the heavy silence in the house, had some way to entice Dean to _look_ at him. "President of Research," he announced proudly, dropping his file on top of Dean's hands, ensuring that Dean had to pay attention to him. Patiently, he waited until Dean looked up from the paper to him, gave him infamous raised eyebrow expression of 'you got my attention, Sammy, so lead on,' before he revealed his discoveries. "Like you said, Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon. Kervert's President of Research, Peter Wesfield, knows a guy who knows a parole officer, who knows…"

Dean immediately picked up his brother's train of thought. "..a member of the gang. Nice, Sammy," he praise, bestowed a pleased look onto his little brother.

Reveling in Dean's admiration, Sam nearly blushed, stammered, "You gave me the idea."

"Now we need to find out what Wesfield gains by all of this. Should find out what research project wasn't getting the green light or one that he could make a lot of money selling to someone else," Dean formulated, beginning to rummage through the paperwork scattered across his living room table.

"There was a leak to the press that Kenvert was working on a military weapon prototype. But then the weapon testing failed and their military contract went down the tube. Murdering Mason, that wouldn't get the contract back or improve the company PR," Sam said, knew that the information didn't fit together for him but trusted that it might mean something to Dean.

Cas spoke slowly, was putting together the pieces in his head. "What if the weapon wasn't a failure?"

Turning to Cas, Dean frowned. "Why would the company let the press think it was?"

"Maybe they got paid to say it was or.." insight sparked in Cas' eyes as he concluded, ".. or maybe our president of research was already making a side deal."

"So he could sell it on the black-market?" Sam asked, hoped he was catching the threads.

"Yeah or…" Cas began before he broke off.

Knowing that look on his friend's face, Dean pressed, "Or what, Cas?"  
>Meeting Dean's eyes, Cas speculated, dread in his tone, "Or the military is doing the cover up, doesn't want to let the public know that they have that type of a weapon, that they would use it without losing a night's sleep."<br>"Government conspiracy?" Sam did a poor job of hiding his skepticism because, come on, this wasn't the X-files?

However, the look Cas bestowed on Sam, it wasn't chagrined, it was worried. "You have no idea the kind of crap that goes on behind the scenes." And Cas couldn't help but glance in Dean's direction. In their shared glance, he knew that he and Dean were both thinking the same thing: How they had met, how the Feds had wanted Cas to take Dean out of the picture, permanently. An order that Cas had taken umbrage to…and then an ax to. Instead, he had changed teams, had done his best… and his worst to keep Dean alive.

His eyes holding Cas', Dean grumbled, "Just great. Another branch of the government that I've pissed off."

"Another?" Sam amazed, hadn't missed the exchange between Cas and Dean but hadn't a clue what it had been about, until now.

"Your brother's got a real way with people of authority," Cas drawled, earning him a glare from his best friend.

"So what do we do? Let them get away with it? Let them kill someone, _anyone _who gets in the way of their newest toy for terrorism?" Dean bitterly spat.

Cas and Sam shared a look, knew that neither of them wanted Dean in danger, that the stakes, if they were as high as they thought they were, meant that the players in the game had no consideration for human life, for Dean's life.

Catching the interaction among his friend and brother but not able to interpret it, Dean reacted to their continued silence with a rough growl. "That was a rhetorical question. You get that, right?" Getting up, he stated to pace the living room. "We need to talk to someone in that research area, find out if the weapon worked or didn't work and who might be willing to place the first order. If only I trusted Mason's dad enough to get the employee records…."

"I kinda hacked into Kenvert's Human Resources files, thought we might need more than press releases," Sam sheepishly admitted.

Awed, Dean gave a bark of laughter, "That's my boy!"

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The three men huddled around the computer even as Sam's deft fingers flew across the keyboard. "So I'll check the research team personnel…" Sam narrated his actions.

"No, check who left the company in the last two months," Cas suggested, explained when Dean and Sam gave him confused looks. "This is how the game is played. You put people off the board you don't trust."

After a few keystrokes, Sam pointed excitedly to the screen. "This guy was part of a research team and he just retired." Accessing another screen, he announced his findings. "And he got a nice pension."

Leaning closer to the monitor, Cas shook his head. "He got paid to NOT talk. We have to find someone who isn't that far up the food chain. Go to Kenvert's termination list." As soon as Sam did, Cas pointed to another name, Miguel Valez. "Him. We need to talk to him."

Sam gave Cas an incredulous stare. "He's just a maintenance guy."

A smile grew on Dean's features as he caught onto Cas' logic, expounded, "…Who had full access to the research room and no one paid much attention too. Until he sees too much. And he didn't get a hush fund, he got a boot out the door. He's the guy we have to talk to." Smile still in place, he turned to Sam, "You got any suits?"

"Yeah, in California," Sam replied, not sure what his brother's question was leading up to.

Grabbing his wallet, Dean pulled out his corporate credit card and handed it to Sam. "Well suit up, my brother. We're about to pay Mr. Valez a visit."

"And what are we today? Insurance agents?" Sam guessed, knew how his brother loved to role play.

"Nope. We're detectives following up on some wrongful termination suits against Kenvert," Dean corrected. "You're officially rejoining the family business, Sammy."

It was the most unexpected thing but Sam couldn't help smiling at the prospect. And he didn't know when doing the family business had stopped being a jail sentence and had started to be an aspiration of his, even an honor.

"While you two are playing Frank and Joe Hardy, I'll put feelers out with my military contacts," Cas announced, reminded himself that, even if Sam **wasn't** there, he and Dean would be splitting up the work load exactly like this. That they weren't usually tied at the hip. '_But usually someone isn't gunning for Dean with a vengeance_,' he caustically pointed out. And that fact was going to make it all the harder to watch Dean walk out the door without him. He watched Dean's back, that was _his job, _had been while Sam had been gone and would be after Sam left again.

"Military contacts?" Dean drawled, quirking an eyebrow at Cas. "That what you're calling your family nowadays?"

Feeling Sam's interested gaze, Cas gave Dean a dirty look. "Guess your family was leaving me nostalgic for my own." And Cas felt sick satisfaction at Dean's startled hurt, let that emotion hang around as he left without a word. But once he got into his car it dissipated, turned into shame.

What he and Dean had always had in common was family issues. It was one of the reasons Cas believed that they had forged such a strong bond. That their friendship, it made up for what their own true families' connections lacked. And it had never been a competition, whose family treated them better, whose family would back them up if they got in a bind. '_And now I just made it one_…' Cas realized with self-hatred before he put the car in reverse and backed out of Dean's driveway, vowing that once this case was over, things would get back to normal. But the nagging thought sprang to mind…did Dean want normal back? Was normal going to be enough after his brother had been returned to him, even if it were only for a short while?

And that doubt, it made Cas rethink the phone conversation he was about to have with his Navy General Grandfather. Because, by the end of the present case, true family might be the only family he had left.

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Sam had never believed that the suit made the man, but he couldn't deny that the feel of a white silk shirt and stripped tie and a well-tailored suit, it made him a different man. A man he hadn't been in years. And seeing his brother in his own suit, the royal blue shirt and snazzy tie speaking of his brother's surprisingly good taste, it brought back memories, good memories. Memories that had hurt to think about in Stanford, during his self-sentenced exile.

Snapping out of his reverie, he shifted on Mr. Miguel Valez's couch beside Dean and focused again on the ex-Kenvert employee.

"So there were other people let go from the company?"

Dean fielded the question with a lie so smooth Sam almost believed it too. "Yes, one of those people hired us to gather information for a wrongful termination claim and when we started investigating, there seemed to be other cases of just such corporate abuse."

Sam piped in, "Your termination in particular seemed unjustified. Would you be willing to tell us the circumstances of your termination?" striving to pull off a sympathetic expression.

Mr. Valez sighed, ran a hand through his dark hair and sank back further into the chair across from his guests. "They claimed that I misrepresented my past employment record. Which I didn't do."

Sensing something in the other man's demeanor, Dean pressed, "Really?"

A tinge of red shaded the man's complexion. "Well…there was the time I worked in my cousin's garage. But I…he wasn't on the up and up all the time. Not that I did anything criminal but…"

"Working for family isn't always easy, I know," Sam commiserated, turned to Dean as felt his brother's hot glare singeing his skin. Fighting to not grit his teeth at his brother's anger at what was only the truth, Sam shot Dean a 'not the time to talk about our family issues' warning before he focused back on Mr. Valez.

Having been dismissed by Sam, Dean demanded of Valez, "So there was no warning? Just one day you came in and they handed you your walking papers?"

"No warnings, no chance to tell my side. My years of service with them didn't matter," the man heatedly replied, clearly was more than ready to get back at his company.

Sam slid the next question in nonchalantly. "And you had access to the entire facility, even the research areas that have high security?"

"Yes. Exactly," Valez confirmed like that was proof in and of itself. "They would have done a criminal check before they ever hired me and I'm clean."

Dean leaned in conspiringly. "We're thinking that your termination had more to do with someone trying to keep you quiet about one of the research projects."

Valez snorted. "Good luck with that. I didn't know anything about the projects in those rooms, 'less it was how much garbage they had and what slobs they were about cleaning up things."

Trying to not be discouraged, Sam dug for more information. "Well maybe it's something else that you saw or heard. There was a project in room E15 that got some notoriety in the press."

"Like I said, I'm not a scientist, couldn't read their gibberish even if you showed it to me."

Feeling the thread of their promising lead fraying in his hands, Sam tried again, his voice more insistent. "Ok, well maybe it's something offhanded that you heard. This project, it was going to go to the military and then it failed testings. Was shut down."

Tilting his head, Valez repeated, "Failed and shut down. That doesn't make any sense. They were partying like they won a million dollars, left the conference rooms filthy, cups still out, trash and food on the floor…."

Eyes meeting, their excitement rising, Dean and Sam said together, "When was this party?"

"Don't know…about a month ago. Took so long for me to clean up that I had to put in two extra hours that night. I'll look on my time card…" Valez offered as he stood up and headed to another room in his house.

Quietly, Dean spoke to Sam. "So the test wasn't a failure, was a roaring success."

"But they don't want the press to know that…" Sam surmised, an excited smile creeping onto his features, finally beginning to feel like he was actually doing something to safeguard his brother.

Re-entering the living room, paystub in hand, Valez drew his visitors' attention again. But only fleetingly.

The next second, something else snagged the two Winchesters' interest: a small red laser light hovering over Miguel Valez's heart.

"Down!" Dean shouted, surging off the couch, was mid-dive, determined to get between Valez and the rifle sight when something slammed him to the carpet, something about the size of his little brother. Pinned under his brother's weight, Dean could only watch as the cracking of glass was instantly followed by the appearance of a blossoming red stain on Valez's chest.

The ex-Kenvert employee gave Dean and Sam a stunned expression before he toppled to the ground.

"No!" Sam growled when Dean tried to throw him off, to crawl out into the open space that divided them from the fallen man. Using his taller frame to advantage, Sam pressed Dean harder into the floor, shouted, "He's dead, Dean! He's dead."

Dean held his breath, watched Valez and hoped for a sign of life. He cursed as none were found. "We gotta…."

Only the ominous sound of more glass shattering heralded the rifle shots that suddenly punched right through the couch that the brothers hid behind.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading! And I owe a debt of gratitude to the wonderfully kind reviews you sent for last chapter that left my smiling instead of crying over my computer woes.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	8. Chapter 8: Under Fire

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 8: Under Fire

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Only the ominous sound of more glass shattering heralded the rifle shots that suddenly punched right through the couch that the brothers hid behind. But it was enough of a warning for Dean to react, to fear that Sam's position on top of him could prove fatal. Seizing his brother's right arm, Dean used the leverage to flip Sam off his back.

Sam landed in a sprawl on the carpet beside him, his breath was still whooshing out of him when the comet streams of not one but two bullets passed an inch above his nose. Admittedly shaken, he was more than content to stay where his brother had roughly deposited him. "Dean? You alright?" he called out, head snapping to the right, immediately soaking in the beloved, not bleeding presence at his side.

No one had to tell Dean how close a call that had been. Not when he could look to his right and see the bullet holes that were burned in the couch…holes that were in line with where Sam had been two seconds before. "Abso-friggin-…" he began to growl but the ping of more high powered muzzled rifle shots swiss -cheesing through the couch cut his words off. He didn't even dare take a deep breath as more bullets rained over his position. Reaching across the distance that separated him from Sam, he pressed his hand on his brother's chest, ensured that Sam didn't move a muscle.

"Craaapppp…." Sam exclaimed as the bullets nailed into the furniture to his left. He fought the urge to move, to find better cover, knew that his strength to remain immobile under the assault, it had a heck of a lot to do with his brother's hand on his chest. That Dean's touch wasn't just restrictive but grounded him, reassured him that he wasn't alone, that his big brother was there and would protect him.

"We can't stay in here!" Dean yelled over the racket. As if proving his point for him, the sniper aimed his next shots at the ceiling over their heads, more specifically at the base of the wrought iron chandelier. His plan apparently to drop the ugly, heavy monstrosity on their friggin' heads!

"They might be at the back door!" Sam shouted over the din, pulling his gun from his waist and cocking it even as he turned his focus to the archway at their backs.

And even if they weren't, Dean could see no safe passageway that direction, not when five feet of unprotected space lay between them and the next room. Scanning the room, trying to ignore that precarious tilt of the chandelier as its left side mountings came loose, Dean spotted the windows a few feet beyond his feet. Between them and the windows there was a spindly looking wooden chair, an end table and a lamp. Hardly bullet stopping coverage.

The menacing rattle of the chandelier as it dropped a few inches made his decision for him.

"Then we go out the side," he announced, waited until Sam's incredulous eyes met his own before he nodded to the windows on the house's right wall. He saw his brother swallow hard but then Sam gave him a grim consensual nod. They were in this together, just like old times. "Bet you're missing all-night cram sessions at Stanford about now?" Dean joked, saw that some of his brother's fear was replaced by exasperation, just like he intended.

"Now!" Dean ordered as he sprang from the floor, was set to follow Sam's lead, knew that his body wasn't at one hundred percent and vowed that his vulnerabilities wouldn't get his kid brother killed. But Sam wasn't taking lead, instead was at his side, wrapping his hand around his elbow and propelling him forward.

With a trail of bullets on their heels, decimating the end table, the lamp and the chair as they passed by them, the brothers hit the windows at the same time. At the impact, Sam's hold was dislodged, left them both tumbling to the ground, and colliding into each other like two warring tops. The siding of Valez's neighbor's house brought their momentum to a harsh halt.

Dean's headache doubled along with his vision as his temple bounced off the siding. Shaking his head, he tried to strong-arm his vision down to single digits.

As for Sam, his back took the impact, knocked the air from his lungs and left him gasping for oxygen. His first breath was ragged. And his next was a curse as bullets embedded themselves into the siding above their heads. Crawling to his brother, he pulled Dean from the ground, wrapped his arm around his brother's waist and together, their heads down, they ran for the backyard.

Turning the corner of the house, Dean stubbornly slipped free of Sam's supportive hold as they tore across the backyard, their steps in perfect synch, regardless of Sam's longer legs. They didn't hesitate as they crossed into another well-kept yard in the formally quiet neighborhood, just kept going because, whether the sniper had back up or not, they were getting out of Dodge all the same.

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Mr. Miguel Valez's home was already ground zero for cops, ambulance and a coroner wagon when Dean and Sam re-appeared on the scene. Dean gave his statement but eagerly let Sam divulge the particulars to the cops, trusted that Sammy would only give a barebones version of their investigation so far.

In the version Dean was about to give to Cas over the phone, the juicy details would not be spared. At his friend's greeting, Dean opened with, "They killed Valez."

Scarily used to Dean leading with bad news, Cas was well trained in keeping his skyrocketing heart-rate off his friend's radar. Calmly he prodded, "Before you got a chance to talk to him?" though it was far from the first question he wanted answered.

"During, actually," Dean disclosed with a tired sigh.

"You and Sam, alright?" Cas point blank asked, hand tightening on the phone in his grip, detecting exhaustion and something else in Dean's voice that could so easily be pain.

Dean replied with a recap. "They did opt for the three in one package, tried to take me and Sam out too. Guy was more than good with his hardware, which, by the way, was a high powered rifle, accessorized with a silencer. You know, for those suburban hot zones. So watch your butt, Cas. These guys aren't taking any prisoners."

"Sounds more and more like military, especially with the suppressor on the rifle," Cas surmised, pacing the length of his third story apartment, not missing the fact that Dean was avoiding giving him a straight answer to his question.

"Yeah," Dean resignedly agreed, so hadn't wanted to tangle with a military cover up, not with Sam on board. "And Valez, before he met his Maker, said that Kenvert was _partying_ the week before he got pink slipped. So the weapon wasn't a dud like Kenvert leaked to the press. Bet someone wearing a uniform is already field testing the thing."

Cas took all that in but couldn't concentrate on putting the pieces together, not until one thing was settled, until the twinge in his gut could be assuaged with cold hard facts. "But you and Sam, you're both alright?", he pressed again, didn't care if Dean called him on the carpet for being a mother hen. He had a right to his worry because, Number one: His best friend was notoriously bad at disclosing those types of details. And number two: Crap, this was the second attempt on Dean's life. The second time Dean needed him and he wasn't there. If there was a third, well, the very real possibility scared him more than a former FBI agent _should_ be scared. He didn't want to have to buy a new suit…to wear as a pall bearer at Dean's funeral.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Dean didn't even balk at Cas' palpable concern. "Yeah, no new holes. If I had it my way, Sam would definitely **not** be working this case."

"Seems like he's holding his own," Cas said, trolling for a response from Dean, hoping that his friend gave something away, let slip how Sam had reacted under fire, if he had been a liability or an asset to Dean. Because, after this newest attack, Cas needed to have some certainty that Dean wouldn't get himself killed trying to protect his untested little brother, that Sam's presence wasn't a distraction. Because if it was, if Sam was even unintentionally putting Dean in more danger than he was already in, well, then Cas would have to assess his next move, determine if he had to consider taking a step that Dean couldn't bring himself to do: namely sideline the younger Winchester. '_A step Dean may not forgive me for taking_,' Cas darkly predicted.

"Sam's a Winchester, course he's holding his own. And then some," Dean boasted, smiled as he heard his brother begin to turn the tables on the cops and grill _them_ for information.

"Right, I forgot. I'm the only unblessed one in the agency," Cas snarked back, his nerves too tattered to smother the sharp edge to his taunt.

"You're an honorary Winchester, Cas. You know that. Meet you later at my house," Dean prearranged and then he hung up, raised questioning eyebrows at the expression on his brother's face as Sam drew closer.

"Well, needless to say, this one's going down as a murder," Sam stated, worriedly noted Dean's pinched features.

"Great. Good thing we stopped by for a chat. Mr. Valez is glad about that, right? He was too proud to collect unemployment anyways. He should thank us for saving him from that bureaucratic nightmare," Dean bitterly joked, eyes leaving his brother and focusing on the body bag already loaded up in the coroner's wagon.

His brother's pain and guilt hitting him like a physical wave, Sam stepped closer to Dean, spoke gently, "Dean, we didn't know this would happen. We were following the leads."

Dean's eyes, when they again met Sam's, held a gallon of regret and his voice ached with it, "But Sam, that guy's dead now. Because of us, because we put him in the crosshairs. Kenvert only fired him…we're the ones that got him killed."

"Whoever is after this weapon killed him. Not you," Sam insisted, but Dean looked away, was clearly not taking the absolution he was being offered. Hurt spiked in Sam for his brother's sake, watched helplessly as Dean's stance radiated anguish …and pain. "You're bleeding! Were you hit?" he exclaimed, fearfully reaching out and moving Dean's jacket aside. It took him only one look at the blood staining the left shoulder of his brother's silk shirt to know that Dean's existing injury was the culprit.

Unflappably, Dean dropped his gaze to his ruined jacket and shirt. "Crap, I liked this suit."

Latching onto Dean's arm, Sam tugged Dean forward, was leading his brother to the ambulance parked on the curb. "Let them check you out."

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean denied, attempted to pull free of his little brother's grip. But Sam's grip was almost frantic in its intensity, overpowering Dean's ebbing energy.

"Then it's no big deal to let the paramedics look you over," Sam reasoned as he steered Dean the remaining few steps to the back of the ambulance. Addressing the paramedics, he tattled, "My brother was wounded a few days ago and he's bleeding again." And though the nearest medic reached for Dean, Sam didn't release Dean into the other man's hold. Instead Sam skirted around the medic and settled Dean down on the end of the ambulance. He barely took a step and a half back to allow the medic access to Dean .Using his height advantage, he peered over the medic's shoulder, watched the paramedic's every action like a hawk, didn't miss one re-stitching of his brother's torn stitches. And heatedly pointed out that the medic was tying the bandage too tightly around his brother's wounded arm.

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Between Dean's call and then his conversation with his Grandfather, Cas was tempted to throw his phone at the wall and do a happy dance over its mangled remains. His Grandfather had touted out the same old speech, the old man's version of the "come back to Jesus" lecture. Though his Grandfather had substituted family and military and worth-while career for God his meaning was clear. He thought his grandson was on the highway to Hell if he didn't shape up and rejoin his family business, i.e. slip on a uniform or brandish a badge. According to his family's beliefs, those were the only commendable callings for a member of the prestigious Angelo family.

And if his grandfather noticed that his objections to that calling were a lot less strenuous this go-around, his family patriarch was too slick to point it out. Probably wanted him to come to things on his own, to come crawling back to the family, to admit that there was no greater, more divine path than the one that his family had painstakingly plotted out for him since before he was born.

By the end of the conversation, Cas had obtained two things: the unclassified tidbits on Kenvert's military contact and an order, disguised as an invitation, to join his grandfather for lunch the next week. A little disgruntled that his grandfather was ordering him around like he was still some kid, Cas had the devious thought of bringing Dean along on the lunch, knew that if anyone could match wits and witticisms with his wily grandfather, his best friend could.

Still smiling at how his grandfather would react to Dean's swaggering, unwanted presence at the high fluting restaurant where they were set to have lunch, Cas pulled into Dean's house.

And promptly slammed on the brakes.

The house looked as it had hours before. No open doors, no broken windows, but Cas' gut was screaming at him, was setting off all his God-given and agency trained instincts. And one thing that was true of his old profession and his new: you didn't dismiss those deep down gut warnings. Not unless you liked being dead more than you liked being alive.

Pulling his gun out of his shoulder holster, he skirted around the house, wished that Dean wasn't so meticulous about keeping the window blinds down and hadn't opted for solid wood doors. Quietly unlocking the backdoor with his key, he hesitated, knew that he didn't have a clue what he was about to walk into, was being led by one thought alone: that whatever it was, it posed a threat to Dean. And that was motivation enough, had him pushing the door open, stepping into the room, gun first.

He saw the two men before they saw him. Apparently they were too intent on the C-4 and the wires that were leading from the bomb to the front door to detect an unforeseen early arrival.

Gut turning cold at the sight of the explosives, of the plan the men sought to carry out, Cas stepped into the house, every nerve thrumming with fury, gun trained on the two men, finger itching to pull on the trigger. He sensed the third threat a second too late.

The third man, who stood just to the left of the door, sent a blow to Cas' arm that numbed it, sent the detective's gun bouncing to the floor. Tugging the detective farther into the room, he landed a right cross to Cas' face, was set to deliver a left but Cas blocked it with his forearm, retaliated with a knee to the man's side and an uppercut that had the man stumbling back against the wall.

Knowing that he had the other two men's full attention even without turning around, Cas ducked instinctively, felt the whoosh of the blow go over his head. Spinning and coming to his full height, he let his momentum carry through on the kick he slammed into his closest opponent's chest. With two of his foes stunned, he focused on the last man, took a solid blow to the face before he managed to deflect the next jab, counter with a powerhouse left that had the man shaking his head but still standing.

Elbowing the man coming at him from behind in the gut, Cas then snapped his head back, liked the notion that his hard head had most likely broken the man's nose. But his satisfaction only lasted a moment, until he saw that the two other men were going to double team him, were simultaneously charging him. And one wasn't playing fair, had pulled out a Ka-Bar knife.

He let them get close and then he moved, stepped left far enough to ensure the knife aimed at his stomach missed its mark, sent the man stumbling forward. Pinning the man's knife welding arm under his own, Cas had to ride out the three hits the other free man assaulted to his torso and face before he managed to retaliate, shoved the heel of his hand hard under the man's chin. Glancing an elbow off the pinned man's temple, he reveled in the man's collapsing form, until he noted where the man would land: Right on the trigger for the bomb.

Cursing, Cas dove forward, sacked into the man, praying that their momentum would take them _both_ over the inadvertent dead man's switch. Hitting the ground with a jarring thud, he cringed a moment, waited to see if he would explode into a thousand pieces, his teeth turning into projectiles. Before he could vote his heroic actions a win, a military issue boot kicked him in the back, felt like it tore through his muscles and punted his kidneys. But he wasn't a stranger to pain, knew how to work through it, especially when his life was on the line and even more so when someone that he swore to protect was in jeopardy. So he rolled over to face his attacker, grabbed the boot before it could connect again with his back and shoved it and its owner backwards.

Starting to scramble, albeit slowly, to his feet, Cas began to turn around, preparing to defend himself from the danger he recognized at his back. Though he saw the blow to come, he knew he was going to be too slow to block it, felt nine ways a fool that one of the golf clubs that he had given to Dean for his birthday might be the instrument of his death. And consequently, Dean's death too. Then the iron club impacted with his temple and agony blossomed into a raging firestorm across his head. He felt himself tumbling to the ground as a blanket of inky blackness descended over his vision.

But he clung doggedly to consciousness, could hear a voice growl above him, "No! Don't shoot him. Winchester will be here in a couple minutes and then all three of them will go up with the house, nice and tidy, nothing to trace back to us. But just in case Winchester is as wily as this guy, go ahead and rig the back door too."

Whatever else the men said, the sounds of their departure, none of it registered with Cas. He could only process one thing, the man's words that kept ricocheting around in his aching head: '_Winchester will be here in a couple minutes..' _That alone demanded his full attention, sent panic slicing through him, left him with the grim certainty that, if he didn't do something, didn't open his eyes, didn't _move_, Dean would die, would walk right through his own front door and get himself killed, him and Sam both. That he was on the very verge of letting his best friend down in the worst way he ever could.

"No," he groggily, angrily protested as he pried his eyes open, used his fear, his desperation to unearth the strength to push himself off the ground, even if it was only to all fours. And then he began to crawl forward, to head for the bomb's trigger, was grimly determined that, if he couldn't defuse the thing, then he would set it off before Dean got there, could get caught in the blast.

Collapsing down to a crouch beside the bomb's trigger, he reached trembling hands out to the wires, ignored the drops of his own blood dripping onto the block of C-4 under his hands. Blinking a few times, he tried to sharpen his vision. '_Don't panic. You have time. Take it slow_,' he counseled himself as he tried to recall everything that the FBI had taught him about defusing bombs. He started to think everything would turn out ok…. right before he heard the rumble of a muscle car engine and the sound of familiar voices fast approaching the front door, telling him that, his time, it was up.

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TBC

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Hope the actions scenes were Ok. I tried to study Cas' fighting style and he's pretty awesome. Just watch Point of No Return for proof of that?

For those Americans reading along at home….Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

For all the rest of my lovely readers, have an awesome day!

Cheryl W.


	9. Chapter 9: Homecomings

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Well I'm uploading this while on vacation so I hope I don't mess things up and download the wrong thing? Here goes….

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Chapter 9: Homecomings

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Cas started to think everything would turn out ok…. right before he heard the rumble of a muscle car engine and the sound of familiar voices fast approaching the front door, telling him that, his time, it was up.

He froze, hands midway between making a rash yank on a wire and withdrawing altogether from the bomb. Felt the crushing weight of responsibility, knew that he had seconds to make a decision that would either kill himself, Dean and Sam or save all three of them. Knew that that moment, it could be his last. And, contrary to what his FBI comrades thought, of what his family wanted, he knew that he wouldn't change his path, would still follow Dean Winchester, that Dean's friendship, it was worth a lot, but Dean's faith in him, was worth more than anything else. Realized that, if Dean was sitting there beside him right then, his best friend wouldn't even _think_ about running away, saving his own life, would stubbornly stay there at his side, would give him a cocky smirk and put his hard won trust in him, completely.

The certainty that, regardless of what he did, Dean's trust would not waiver sent peace washing over him, allowed him to sharply recall every detail he knew about C-4 bombs, to unerringly reach for the blue wire. That didn't mean he didn't shut his eyes, didn't send up a prayer heavenward, didn't cringe as the front door handle rattled.

Immediately taking in the bewildering sight of Cas sitting on his living room floor, Dean stumbled to a halt in the doorway. "Cas?" he worriedly beckoned, felt relief as his friend moved from his statue like stance, raised his head, until he saw the blood matting his friend's hair and staining the left side of his face. He was moving for Cas even before his second frantic call of his friend's name broke the silence, "Cas!" Then all he could do was watch in shocked fear as Cas gave him a weak smile before his eyes slipped closed and he crumpled to the floor as boneless as a corpse.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, crashing to his knees beside his friend's unmoving form, instantly pulling Cas off the floor to lean against his knees. "Cas?" he demanded, hands fisted in his friend's shirt, looking down at his friend's bloody, bruised face, willing the man to open his eyes, to grouse at him for being late to the party his friends had apparently been having in his house in his absence. But Cas didn't move, didn't respond to his repeated call of his name or the small shake he gave him.

Stunned, Sam stood in the middle of the living room, eyes scanning everywhere, taking in so many things: the broken furniture, the wires leading to the front and back door, the block of C-4 sitting seeminglyharmless on the floor. But most unnerving was the sight of his brother on the floor, his best friend leaning against his chest with a stillness that chilled Sam. He almost startled when Dean's head snapped up and his eyes pinned him with a desperate look that seemed so wrong on his unshakeable brother's features.

"Call an ambulance!" Dean ordered, didn't spare more time for his brother than that, returned everything to the man in his arms, focused all his energy on clinging to the life that he valued more than his own. "Cas, you stupid idiot, this shouldn't have been you. It was supposed to me," he brokenly choked out, knew that the injuries on his friend's body, he should be sporting them instead of Cas. That the bomb Cas had foolishly took upon himself to unarm, that was meant for him, for only him. That if Cas died, he would be taking his place.

Leaning down until his breath hit his friend's still features, Dean hissed, "Come on, Cas? Wake up! Give me crap for changing the game, for me invading your personal space instead of the other way around." Cas' continued unresponsiveness was like a knife in Dean's heart, had him pulling his friend tighter against his chest, wishing that it wasn't his friend's shirt under his hands but his friend's soul, that he could hold that ransom until Cas stopped scaring him. "You can't do this! I trusted you. Out of everyone I trusted you to stay!"

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Worriedly, Sam watched his brother continue to pace the small length of the hospital's waiting room, his brother's gaunt features reminding him that only a few days ago Dean himself had been a patient at that very hospital. He fought down a shudder as he recalled the bomb that had been waiting for them, for Dean, at the house. That Dean had had three attempts on his life. And it was starting to really show.

"Dean, just take a seat, man. You're wiped out," Sam gently beckoned, too concerned to allow Dean to think he couldn't detect his exhaustion.

That had Dean spinning to face Sam, incredulousl expression crossing his pale features. "I'm the one wiped out? Cas is unconscious, wouldn't come around for a bomb. Oh, which was exactly what we had to come home to if he hadn't foiled their plans…"

Before Dean could wind himself up farther, Sam cut in, dug down deep and came up with a taunt. "Yeah, he's a real hero and I'm sure he'll love that coming from you," he even managed a light tone, did it for Dean. Could do that for Dean and a thousand other harder things, if Dean would only let him.

Dean gave his brother a mocking glare. Like he'd ever tell Cas any of that? The ex-Fed already had an ego the size of the Chrysler building.

Deciding that strong tactics were necessary, Sam stood up, crossed the small distance that separated him from his brother and grabbed Dean's arm. Then, leading his big brother back to the chairs like an errant child, he gently reassured, "Anybody who has survived hanging around you for more than a week is tough, Dean. He'll be OK."

Letting Sam push him into a chair, Dean hung his head, scrubbed his hand across the base of his neck and muttered, "He better be," like he was angry instead of terrified.

But Sam knew the difference. "He will be," Sam vowed. And though he didn't know Cas well, he knew enough about the man to know that Cas wouldn't leave Dean, not without a heck of a fight. That letting Dean down, of leaving Dean's back unprotected, that wasn't something the ex-FBI agent would ever willing do.

"Sam, he's had my back so many times," Dean hoarsely said, couldn't fathom what he would do without his best friend there to have his back, to steady him when he was coming apart, to not pass judgment or look at him with disgust at his failures. To just take him as he was, flawed and broken.

Sam had to look away from the tense curve of his brother's back that exposed how devastated his brother was at the thought of losing his best friend. Knew that even the slightest touch could splinter his brother's control. And that was his fault, that Dean believed that the only one that cared about him was the ex-FBI agent, that his brother relied so heavily on Cas. '_And not you_,' he grudgingly admitted, knew what Dean wasn't saying. That Cas had had Dean's back when Dad hadn't, when he hadn't. And as much as it hurt, Sam knew that Dean needed Cas more than he needed him. Couldn't lose the one person, the only person that had _earned_ his trust. "And he's not going to bail on you, Dean."

Shifting back from his hunched pose, Dean leaned back against the seat and shook his head, didn't face Sam as he coldly mumbled, "Everyone does…"

Feeling sucker punched, Sam tried to dislodge the emotions suddenly stuck in his throat, to find the words to contradict his brother's dark prediction. A commotion in the exam area drew Dean's attention before he could.

"It is unadvisable for you to…." a man's voice reasoned, the replying voice wasn't so reasonable.

"This is about the HMOs. I see through your game," Cas' slightly slurred voice echoed into the waiting room.

Immediately, Dean was on his feet and heading toward his best friend's voice. He found Cas, with a bandage wrapped around his head, standing outside an exam room facing off with the doctor. Though he was swaying, Cas stubbornly shook off the doctor's grip. "Whoa, hey," Dean intervened, stepping into the fray, he grabbed hold of Cas' elbow.

Noticeably doped to the gills on pain medication, Cas turned to Dean with confusion that morphed to pleasure. He gave Dean a blinding, drugged smile and drawled, "Deeaannn…." His hand floated in the air a moment before it made a clumsy landing on Dean's cheek. "Dean, you're here."

Dean replied earnestly to the vulnerability in his friend's blue eyes. "Course I am, Cas. I'm right here."

Fisting his other hand in Dean's shirt, Cas took an unsteady step closer to his friend, ended up stumbling and falling against Dean, who caught him easily, for once didn't hassle the other man for being in his personal space. "I couldn't let them blow you up," Cas declared, his eyes as serious as they could be as drugged as he was. "Friends don't let other friends blow up."

"I know. You did good Cas," Dean praised, wrapping his arm around his friend's waist, ensuring that Cas didn't collapse, didn't pass out on him again, scare more years off his predictably short life span.

The doctor stepped closer to the two men, dared to interrupt the reunion "He's got some cracked ribs, a bruised kidney and a pretty severe concussion. He needs to be admitted overnight for observation."

But Cas was already shaking his head, which Dena thought would have hurt Cas like heck had his friend not been in a morphine cloud. "I don't think…." Dean began, wasn't willing to go against Cas' wishes and really wasn't Ok with letting Cas out of his sight, not when the stakes had changed, when killing his friend, his brother now seemed a fair tactic to shut him up.

Before Dean could fully utter his protest, Sam was there, was grabbing the doctor by the arm and leading him away. "We got him. Just let me know the symptoms to look out for and any prescriptions you have for him."

With blurred vision, Cas followed the doctor and Sam's departure before he looked back to Dean. "Your brother….I like him. I don't want to, but I like him," he admitted, too stoned to be anything less than truthful.

Fondly looking at his brother's departing form before shifting his focus to his spaced out friend, Dean smiled, "Yeah, me too. Now let's hit the road, _old man_," he taunted, was testing the water, needed to gauge for himself how loose the wires were in Cas' head. Needed to know if his friend had the concentration to take up the gauntlet, to give tit for tat in their familiar verbal sparing match. Needed some proof that he wasn't putting Cas' life in danger, more danger by dragging him out of the hospital, injured as he was.

"Not old…just _older_," Cas countered petulantly, taking a sloppy step forward only to be cinched against Dean's chest. He waited until Dean moved forward before he got his own legs to do some moving of their own. "I look and feel older since I started hanging out with you." Then he turned his head up to face Dean, asked with an intensity that made Dean smirk, "Do you think I should start dyeing my hair? I found a grey hair yesterday. My father went grey by seventy five, but he wasn't almost dying every week. How come you don't have any grey hairs?" Cas wondrously pondered as he reached out, mussed up Dean's hair in his search for the illusive grey strands.

Dean groaned as his hair got skewed by his drugged friend's uncoordinated digits. "This is going to be a long night," he sighed as the twosome made an awkward beeline for the emergency room's exit.

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Trying to divest Cas of his shirt as gently as possible, Dean wished his friend wasn't lying on the bed as loose limbed as a rag doll, that the only indication that Cas was still awake was the almost blank stare he was leveling at him. "A little help here would be great," Dean groused but there was only fond concern in his eyes as he took in the pitiable shape his friend was in. With only careful motions, he rolled Cas to his left and finally freed his one arm from the shirt. He gritted his teeth at Cas' pained intake of air as he resettled him on his back, knew that Cas' ribs, kidney and the other bruises on his friend's torso weren't keen on being jostled, no matter how gently or how good the intensions were. The incriminating thought looping through Dean's head intensified. '_Your fault. Your fault. __**Your fault**__!_'

"I know," Cas spoke for the first time since they stumbled into the unoccupied development's model house's front door. Dean stilled, thought that he had spoken his guilty confession aloud, that Cas was agreeing with him, wholeheartedly.

Tell-tale heart thudding in his chest, Dean huskily prodded, "What do you know?" bracing for Cas's judgment, for Cas to tell him that being his friend, being around him, it wasn't worth the risk, that Dean's dad and brother, they were right all along. Leaving him, it was the smartest move anyone could make.

Meeting Dean's eyes, Cas solemnly said, "What you want."

Confused but certain he wouldn't like where Cas was leading him, Dean challenged, "Yeah, and what's that?"

"What you already have," Cas evenly replied, like that said it all.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Drugged, cryptic Cas. Just awesome."

Cas exhaled like he was giving up the ghost, clarified, "Sam. Your family." Then he turned his head, stared sightlessly at the bedroom's blank wall. "I'll be OK."

Gently capturing Cas' chin in his grasp, Dean turned his friend's head to face him. "Whoa. Make sense for a moment," his tone patient and kind.

"On my own, I'll be ok on my own," Cas reassured, unknowing that doubt gathered in his eyes as they held onto Dean's.

"And who says you're going to be on your own?" Dean demanded, angry at whoever was telling Cas that hogwash.

Cas slurred out his declaration, "I do."

Dean couldn't keep the affectionate smile off his lips and he slipped his hand from Cas' face to give his friend a companionable pat on the chest. "Well you're wrong," he vowed, keeping his hand steadily on his friend's chest.

Cas' brow drew together in puzzlement. "You have your brother now…"

"And you're my best friend," Dean countered as if it was something Cas shouldn't have ever questioned.  
>Dropping his eyes from Dean's, Cas quietly pointed out, "So is Sam."<p>

Caught unawares by Cas' perceptive conclusion, Dean opened his mouth and then closed it, stunned by the revelation that Cas had made, that he should have made for himself. That no matter what happened between him and Sam four years ago, he would always count Sam as a friend of his. But the titles, the relationships, they weren't exclusive, didn't have to be, not of the roles of best friend…or brother. Thickly he announced, "And Sam isn't my only brother…."

Cas' eyes flew to Dean's and he frowned with hurt, "You have _another_ brother? You didn't tell me…."

Dean gave a tolerant chuckle and his eyes held immeasurable warmth as they clashed with Cas' pained ones. "You, wavy gravy. I'm talking about you."

Comprehension came to Cas slowly but surely, was evident by the sloppy but jubilant smile that soon lit up his face.

Knowing that Cas was finally on the same page he was, Dean withdrew his hand from Cas's chest and pulled back to stand beside the bed. "Now get some sleep and when you wake up the first thing out of your mouth better not be sappy, better be about killing or drinking something," Dean warned and then, before Cas could get all sloppy, emotional on him, he flipped the covers over his best friend, his adopted brother's face and walked out of the room. But he wasn't far enough down the hallway to miss the muffled, "Night Little Brother," Cas offered to him.

Smiling, Dean headed down the stairs, found it a strange blessing that, as dark as things were right then, other things were better than they had ever been before. Sardonically thought that only someone as screwed up as he was could look at a day where he had been in jeopardy of losing both his brother and his best friend and realize that he had nearly everything that he wanted. And, in that moment, he almost believed it would last.

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TBC

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See, everyone survived! I love the boys in danger, not dead. Wait, now I'm remembering our lovely season 3 & 5 finales. I changed my mind, dead is also fine as long as they keep coming back!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	10. Chapter 10: Lowered Expectations

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 10: Lowered Expectations

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Sam had a soda bottle open and waiting for Dean when he got back down the stairs. "He going to be OK?"

"He's loopy but I think that's just the drugs talking and not brain damage. Hope so," Dean wise-cracked before sinking heavily into the couch and leaning his head back on the cushions.

"So is this your version of a safe house?" Sam asked, taking in the fully furnished model home they were presently squatting in.

"Real Estate market is in the crapper right now so it's not like we're going to get kicked out by the place's new owners," Dean quipped before he made an effort to sit up, grab the soda bottle on the low table in the room and take a healthy swallow. Studying his bottle label instead of his brother, he disdainfully deduced, "So guess today brings back all the reasons why you hated the family business."

"You almost dying did," Sam candidly admitted, almost shied away from his brother's surprised look.

"You almost died. You and Cas," Dean countered gruffly, as if his own jeopardy wasn't worth mentioning.

"Dean, don't start doing this all over again," Sam fiercely disagreed, an edge of frustrated anger to his tone, sparking in his eyes.

"Do what?" Dean innocently asked, not sure what he had done wrong this time.

With a huff of air, Sam bared his soul, "Pretend that I wouldn't care if you got hurt. I think me coming here when I knew you were hurt, saving your butt today should tell you how wrong you are."

In response, Dean shrugged, not in denial of Sam's devotion to him but in a I'll-pass-on-commenting-on-that gesture. And in true Dean fashion, he changed the subject. "You know how many times Dad let a case get so out of control that they shot up the office AND tried to bomb him out? Not. One. Time."

Sam's heart twisted at Dean's defeated tone even as his blood pressure rose at his brother's knack to put their father on a pedestal. A pedestal he didn't deserve to be on. But he unearthed a gentle tone for his next words to his brother, "Dean, come on. Each case is different…."

"And I attract the worst of them," Dean interjected with self-loathing, raising the bottle in a salute to how awesomely screwed up he was.

Instantly, Sam was sharply defending his brother's abilities. "You're still breathing. Cas is still breathing. And you've never left a case unsolved, never walked away, even when you should have. Sounds like you're up to the challenge."

Leaning back on the couch and propping his feet on the table, Dean despondently challenged, "What if I don't wanna be?" He shook his head in exhausted submission. "Really Sam, who wants this life? Gangs, assassins, government agencies all out to put you in the ground. Maybe things are turning out like they should," he cryptically predicted, started to believe that the agency getting closed down, his own license getting revoked? Maybe that was fate cashing in his chips for him since he didn't have the stones to do it of his own volition.

Sam tilted his head in confused worry. "What things? What are you talking about, Dean?"

Pierced with his brother's intense scrutiny, Dean shook himself out of his blue state of mind. He didn't want to drag Sam down with his problems, well any more than he already was. No, he had started this game and he would play it out to the end, alone, he was man enough to do that. "Nothing, just feeling a little down. So you wanna play cards?"

But Sam wasn't taking his brother's words lightly, tried to make his tone teasing as he pressed, "No, no, Dean. You started this. You're talking. I know this case has gone to crap…." At Dean's raised eyebrow that offered a sarcastic 'no really', Sam sighed, "but you're doing it for the right reasons. Mason's father came to you because he needed answers about his son's death, needed some peace. And now that we know that Mason was murdered, someone has to get justice for him and the guys who murdered him have to be stopped before more people get killed. You're saving people Dean. That's the job." Sam couldn't help but give a short bitter laugh. "And you're the best at it, Dean."

Dean stilled, waited for his brother to elaborate but when Sam simply pinned him with a fond look, he prodded, "The best as in…."

Sam shook his head but his smile only grew. Course Dean would never see his own self-worth. "As in _**the**_ best, Dean." He wanted to say 'better than Dad' but knew Dean could only process so much praise at one time. "You need that on a plaque or something…"

Smiling, Dean brashly returned, "Oh yeah and I'll hang it in the detective office. Oh right, my office is full of bullet holes right now. Kinda like all my theories about this case….."

Sam leaned forward and patted his brother on the knee. "You'll figure it out." Then he came to a stand, stretched and started heading for the stairs.

Dean turned his head to watch his brother's departure, called out, "That's it?" Mimicked Sam's tone, "'_I'll figure it out'_ and you're going to bed?"

Sam stopped on the steps and looked to Dean. "Ah yeah. Like you said, no one's finding us here. Night," he bade and then he resumed his journey up the stairs.

"So I guess I'll watch…" Dean talked to himself but broke off as he realized that there was no television set in the house. "Fully furnished, yeah right," he grumbled. Hearing his brother coming back down the stairs, he taunted without turning around. "What, you need me to tell you a bedtime story?"

Leaning on the railing half way down the stairs, Sam smirked at the back of his brother's head. "No, but apparently you need _me_ to tell you to go to bed. So, hit the sack, Dean. And take your medicine."

"You're not Dad," Dean whined even as he pushed himself off the couch and began to tiredly make his way toward the stairs and his patiently waiting brother.

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The first thing Cas became aware of was pain. From every body part he owned. But especially from his head. Raising a hand to the back of his head, his hand came into contact with something cold.

Ice Compress.

And then other things fell into place: unwanted guests in Dean's house, bomb wires in his grasp, a hospital's white walls and then conversations. "Oh great," he whined as he recalled his drugged up chat with Dean. '_Dean'll never let me live that down_.' Then he remembered other conversations, voices, Sam's and Dean's waking him up throughout the night, adhering to the ole concussion checklist.

But now there was only silence, too much silence. It had Cas jerking upright, his heart thudding and his ears straining for some sign that he wasn't alone. But only more silence returned to him. Throwing the covers off, he climbed out of the unfamiliar bed in the unknown bedroom and almost face planted onto the carpet. Moaning in pain, he clutched his lower back. '_Oh right, hurt ribs and bruised kidney thanks to a well-placed kick by one of the commandos.' _

Then he caught sight of something to his left: a glass of water and a pill container on the nightstand. And on the chair there was a t-shirt and jeans. Leaning over, he picked up the t-shirt and couldn't help but smile. He knew no one else who would _dare_ buy and expect him to _wear_ a Dallas Cowboy's shirt but Dean.

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His entrance into the living room garnered him the rapt attention of both Winchesters but before either man could offer up a verbal greeting, Cas opened with, "Let's kill a bottle of Tequila," his eyes holding Dean's. Wanting to acknowledge, straight off, that everything they talked about last night, he remembered it all and was honoring Dean's wishes, and holding the other man to his sentiment.

Dean smiled widely, had been hoping that his chick flick moment last night hadn't been in vain, because after all, he only had a few of them in him. "I see you're finally come to value _my_ Cowboys," he snarkily drawled, nodding to the t-shirt his friend was sporting.

"Bite me," Cas growled, settling carefully down into the chair across from the two smirking fools. "Do I even want to know where we are?" hands waving to take in the unknown house. Dean's brash smile did nothing to settle his unease.

"Consider us perspective buyers. How would we know if we wanted to buy the place if we didn't make ourselves home in it for a few days, right?" Dean posed innocently.

"Arrested for trespassing, that'll look really great in my official file," Cas lamented.

"I'll write you a letter of recommendation for your next employer," Dean jokingly offered but wasn't prepared for his friend's eyes to darken and his jaw to clench at the jest.

Sensing the sudden tension between Dean and Cas, Sam stood up, mumbled, "Well, I'm going to…go out there," he announced, pointing to the next room before using his long legs to vacate the impending field of battle.

"How ya feeling?" Dean gently asked even as he was making his own inspection of his best friend's pale, bruised countenance.

"Awful but we're all alive so I'm calling it a win," Cas tiredly replied, eyes never leaving Dean's, frowned when he saw a shadow of guilt dim his friend's green gaze.

"Yeah, 'bout that. Thanks Cas. For saving Sam's life and mine. And yours too," Dean earnestly acknowledged, hoping that Cas knew that him saving his own life wasn't just an offhanded comment, that Dean needed his best friend, his surrogate big brother to stick around, to not be dead.

Cas chose to downplay his heroics. "Well like I said friends…"

Dean finished his friend's sentence with a smile, "…don't let other friends blow up. That's catchy. Maybe I should get it embroidered on a pillow or maybe a sweatshirt…"

Cas gave a laugh but almost immediately he choked it off in pain. Leaning forward over his protesting ribs, he hung his throbbing head down as low as he could, hoping the lower altitude would help. An instant later, he felt Dean's hand come to rest on the nape of his neck and his friend's soft, gentle voice wash over him.

"Hey, if you need to go back to the hospital…"

But Cas wasn't going to get sidelined in this game, not when his best friend's life was at stake. "No, I'll be alright," he stated, though his voice was low with pain. When Dean's hand slid free of his neck a minute later, he forced himself to sit up straight, to meet his friend's eyes head-on. "What I need is for you to talk to me" a note of entreaty in his words.

As if Dean dreaded the conversation to come, he began to deflect, "We're talking right now. Talked last night, case you forgot."

Nearly dying gave Cas a new appreciation for what was important in his life, new clarity on what was worth taking risks for: like saving his best friend's life. But more than that. He found that he would risk just as much to see his best friend happy, to secure Dean's future. And that meant that his first order of business was to broach a subject that he knew could very well damage his friendship with Dean.

Hoping that Dean's sentiments the previous night weren't exaggerated because Dean was feeling guilty or worried about him, that Dean's ability to forgive brotherly transgressions extended now to him, Cas pressed with more distress than anger, "Why didn't you tell me about the investigation into the agency detective license, Dean?"

"Your detective license isn't in jeopardy, I _swear_," Dean quickly reassured, needed Cas to know he wouldn't let that happen, that he wasn't going to take him down with him.

"You think that's what I'm upset about?" Cas incredulously spat, itching to grab hold of Dean and give him a shake. Might have too if a look of such little-boy-lost vulnerability didn't transform the hard edges to Dean's face. It made his next words come out with an aching tenderness. "We're talking about your future here."

"What future," Dean deadpanned, not bothering to deny what was inevitable in a few days' time.

"The one your dad is screwing up for you!" Cas contemptuously spat, angry that Dean would fight for everyone else but never for himself. "We need to track him down to sign the license renewal."

Shooting a glance to the other room, where he knew Sam waited, Dean dropped his voice, didn't need Sam getting involved. Giving a bitter bark of laughter, he rubbed his hand over his mouth, admitted hollowly, "I don't know if he _will_ sign it. He's so disappointed in me right now…."

"Disappointed in you?" Cas nearly shouted. "He's the…."  
>"Don't!" Dean warned dangerously, eyes boring into Cas'. "He's not your father!"<p>

"And he's not much of one to you either!" Cas furiously volleyed back but he hated that Dean flinched at his heartless observation. Instantly, heaviness blanketed the room, strained the bond of their friendship. Fearing that he had crossed a line he couldn't come back from, Cas relented, "Dean I'm…I'm sorry."

"I'll go grab Sam so you can recap your eventful afternoon…," Dean brusquely began, coming to his feet. He wasn't expecting Cas to move fast enough to stand in his way.

Standing toe to toe with his friend, Cas insisted, "Dean, it can wait. We need to find your dad. Put yourself first for a change," he implored.

"Two guys are now dead, Cas!" Dean harshly pointed out. "I think that's more important than missing a signature on some piece of paper. Now, are you working on this case with me or not?"

Recognizing that he was out of options, that working the case was the only help Dean would accept from him, Cas resignedly sighed but agreed with steadfast loyalty, "Of course."

As he watched Dean leave, go off to retrieve his brother, Cas cursed, wished that John Winchester wasn't such a coward, didn't hide behind phone messages and texts, had the guts to face Dean, to look his son in the eye when he knowingly ruined his life. '_And if he were within a hundred yards of me, I would put that confiscated C-4 to good use_.'

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When Dean re-entered the living room, he not only had Sam at his heels but a refilled icepack slung over his shoulder and a mug and bowl in his hands. After sitting the mug and bowl in front of his battered friend, he tossed the icepack into Cas's lap. Nodding to the food offerings, he explained,"It's oatmeal. I know it's not up to your standards but we're living on bare essentials right now."

Dean's consideration, it seemed a peace offering and Cas felt shamed because if anyone owed anyone a peace offering, it was him to Dean. But that was just Dean's style. Even when he wasn't in the wrong, he still tried to make amends. "No, that's great. Oatmeal's probably all I can handle right now," Cas admitted, fibbing a little bit. Truth was, he was starving, had somehow missed dinner the previous night.

"See, Dean, that's how a sane person reacts to being hurt," Sam ribbed. "He admits he's in pain and takes things easy."

Dean simply rolled his eyes but he didn't miss the wink that Sam shot to Cas. Them being co-conspirators was fine, them being co-conspirators against _him_, not so much. "I saw that," he accused, pointing a finger at his brother and then swinging it to his best friend. Neither one of them had the good grace to even look ashamed.

Slurping up some of oatmeal, Cas didn't miss the wince Dean couldn't quite conceal as he claimed a seat on the couch beside his brother. His friend's one concession to the pain of his bullet wound, it sharply reminded Cas of his earlier failure to keep Dean safe and in one piece, that one victory didn't win the war. And as surely as he was sitting there with a nearly cracked head, they were fighting a war. But though he had skipped the stars and stripes uniforms his family donned, he still had military blood running through his veins. Which made waging a war just another day at the office for him. '_A dangerous day_,' he found himself quoting Dean, smirked until he realized the Winchesters were giving him worried stares.

Abandoning the oatmeal, he gingerly applied the icepack to the goose egg on his head and faced his two patiently waiting companions, his look settled on Dean as he began to talk. "The guys that were at your place were definitely military trained. Their fighting methods, their handiwork with the bomb, the way they attacked as a unit, all give aways."

Dean didn't move but his eyes narrowed in intensity. "So are we talking a hush hush confiscation of the weapon, an "eminent domain" action. Big Brother gets what Big Brother wants? Free of charge?"

Sam sat forward, asked, "You mean the military took the weapons with or without a contract?" followed his brother's look to Cas.

Cas began to shake his head before he thought better of it. "According to the General, Mason turned down the military contracts and they have no more involvement in the weapon."

"You believe him?" Dean asked, always trusted Cas' perception of people and knew that Cas would know his family members better than anyone else.

Holding Dean's eyes, Cas confirmed, "Yes. I know when my grandfather's giving me the run around and this isn't it."

Dean nodded, accepted Cas' intuition. "So rogue military it is. When the weapon worked and Mason turned down the contract, decided to protect himself from a military confiscation of the weapon by telling the world the weapon was a failure…"

"Someone saw it as an opening for a pay day," Sam jumped in, turned to face Dean. "The research guy who knew the parole officer who know the gang members…."

"Who, with their great love for you, readily agreed to kill you," Cas caustically supplied, earning him a glare from Dean.

Dean took up the narrative, "So research guy, Peter Wesfield, cuts a side deal with someone in the military who was involved with the original weapon contract. Westfield hands the weapon to them and they plan to sell it to the highest bidder."

"Trouble is they can't chance putting it on the black market until they shut up everyone who realized the weapon worked and might alert the authorities," Cas bitterly surmised.

"Like Mason and Valez," Sam listed, turned to Dean, worry gathering in his eyes. "And you. They thought that you already _knew_ that the weapon worked, that Mason was killed because he wouldn't sell it to anyone for any amount of money. They though you would start pointing fingers in the right direction when the weapon made headlines after some terrorist cell group tested it out for the first time."

Dean rubbed his forehead, grumbled, "It's great that my detective skills were _over-estimated_, especially when it gets me a death sentence."

Cas and Sam frowned at Dean's choice of words and both tracked Dean as he surged out of the couch, paced to the doorway and swung around. "So they've been trying to kill me for what they _thought_ I knew. Almost killed both of you over a wrong assumption! Now I'm pissed!"

"_Now_ you're pissed? And you _weren't_ after they shot you?" Sam incredulously scoffed, couldn't believe Dean's anger, which was the first step to his brother's self-preservation mode, was only now making a true showing.

"They killed that maintenance guy, Sam! They were going to blow Cas up and you too," Dean thundered, angry that he hadn't stopped this before, hand't put the pieces together before he dragged Sam and Cas into the case.

"And you," Cas bit out, slamming the ice bag onto the table. "Don't forget that. Planned to blow _you_ up, your house and your whole neighborhood block."

"Well this stops now," Dean darkly promised, striding for the door.

"Ah crap. I hate when he gets like this…," Cas nearly whined as he got up, began to follow Dean even as he started to unwrapped the bandage around his head.

Caught by surprise, it took Sam a moment to realize he was about to be left behind. Quickly getting up, he stammered, "Wait. Do we have a plan?"

"Yeah, talk to Kenvert's head of research and make him _wish_ he had a Seal Team at his beck and call," Dean threw over his shoulder to the entourage that loyally followed his lead, no matter where it led.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and I'm loving hearing how you're liking the story so far!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	11. Chapter 11: Dirty Little Secrets

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Well, after what seems like a long break, I'm back with another chapter for this story.

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Chapter 11: Dirty Little Secrets

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Though Sam was the last man out of the model home, he used his long legs to advantage. Arriving at the Impala's passenger side at the same time as Cas, he reached for the front seat door handle only to find that Cas was mimicking his actions, that the other man was staking a claim on the Impala's shotgun seat. '_My seat_," Sam possessively qualified, eyes lancing into Cas' as both of their hands remained hovering over the sole access to the coveted front seat.

Sure, Sam had given the seat up to the other man on the way home from the hospital. After all Cas had been hurt and it would have been pretty douchey to relegate the wounded man to the back seat. But that wasn't quite right, wasn't the truth. Sam hadn't been Mr. Considerate, hadn't let Cas usurp his rightful position in his family's car.

'_No, Dean had __led__ Cas to the front seat_,' that little voice in Sam's head sallied. Dean helped Cas stumble out of the hospital and settled him into Sam's rightful place in the Impala. The seat that had been his baby brother's ever since Dad had dropped the keys into Dean's waiting hands._ 'And here you thought you were regaining all that you lost four years ago, that saving Dean's life at Valez's would earn back all your little brother privileges.' _And naively, he had really thought things had turned around, were on track to slip back to how they once were with Dean, that his position in his brother's life was now irrefutable. Then this moment happened, sharply reminded him that he had a contender for the space beside Dean in the Impala, and in his brother's life.

When Sam reached for the passenger door at the same time he did, Cas watched the convoy of emotions ghost over the younger man's features but he couldn't quite interpret them. Hurt, stubbornness, outrage… all seemed likely. And part of him was willing to back down, to allow Sam to be as close to his brother as he wished, after all, Sam would only be there a short while, would leave as soon as the case was over and Dean was safe. '_But what if he doesn't leave_?' Cas internally asked, hated himself for dreading the very thing that Dean wanted most: His brother back in the family business. At his side. Permantely. Like it was always meant to be.

'_Well I'm not just going to roll over, forfeit my partnership, my friendship with Dean, our brotherhood_,' Cas stubbornly vowed, let his unwavering gaze challenge Sam before he opened the Impala's passenger door and boldly claimed his earned shotgun spot. The connection he shared with Dean, it meant too much to him to surrender it without a fight, especially to someone who tossed such a connection back in Dean's face, callously showed how little he valued what Dean had to offer. And now, no matter how much Sam had changed his tune, was willing to risk his life to save his brother's, it didn't change the fact that he had walked out on his brother, hadn't been there when he needed him a hundred times before this case.

Sometimes wounds didn't heal. Dean's hadn't, Cas knew that for a certainty. And that was reason enough for Cas to do what he could to keep Sam at arm's length from Dean, to not allow Sam to get too close to Dean, not if Sam was just going to leave and stay gone, hurt Dean all over again.

Though he had clearly read Cas' look of defiance, Sam was still astonished when the other man, without a word, audaciously commandeered the shotgun position in the Impala. Hands fisted, fighting the urge to rip open the front door and yank Cas free of _his_ seat, Sam wretched the back door open, sank down in the _back_ seat and slammed the door shut, hard enough to rock the car.

"Whoa, Whoa! Easy on my baby!" Dean exclaimed, eyes finding Sam's in the rearview mirror.

"Sorry," Sam muttered but, when his brother's eyes narrowed, his gaze quickly skittered away from Dean's, afraid that Dean would knew he was pissed, would pick up on the tension in the car, between his companions.

When Sam sullenly looked away, Dean turned to Cas, recognized his best friend's smug, satisfied expression and gave a raised eye brow demand of 'what?'

To which Cas returned, "We going to go? I'm assuming that Peter Wesfield won't scribble down his confession and mail it to us."

Dean snorted at his friend's attempt at humor. Starting the engine, he pulled out of the model home's driveway and headed out to the highway.

All three men startled when a cellphone ended the silence in the car.

"Ah, that's me," Sam timidly announced as he pulled the phone from his pocket. When he saw the caller ID said 'Jess', his stomach flopped. His two worlds were about to share space, ironically, right there in the Impala. "It's my girlfriend…" he provided, eyes coming up to meet Dean's in the rearview mirror, almost asking his brother's permission to answer it.

"Remember to keep it PG. Cas is still a virgin," Dean quipped, saw a diminutive, almost nervous smile turn up his brother's lips. Even without looking, he knew Cas was sending him a glare and that notion was confirmed when he turned his head toward his co-pilot seat. But Dean tensed when his friend's expression turned pensive and his eyes refuted to let go of their target, namely him.

Even as he heard Sam answer his phone, Dean lowly started a conversation with Cas. "What?" he groused exasperatedly because he _knew_ that look of Cas'.

"Nothing…" Cas began before he sourly speculated, "…just wondered, if I gave you a slap to the back of the head to knock some sense into you, would a raise this year be out of the question."

Spearing Cas with a menacing look of warning, Dean darkly shot back, "And the next year and the next and the _next_."

"Oooohhh, you actually think I'm sticking around that long," Cas joked but instantly knew, in light of recent happenings, it was a bad blunder. Especially when Dean's façade of anger melted into a dishearten grimace. "I didn't mean…." he tried to rectify, hadn't meant that he _expected_ the detective agency's license to go belly up, that he had plans to leave Dean's side.

Dean's closed down features and short nod was hardly encouraging.

Knowing that Dean wouldn't accept some fairy tale optimism that everything would be alright, wouldn't believe him if he told him he was going to make it alright, Cas offered up levity when there was little to be had. After all, that was how his best friend taught him to handle the bad stuff in life. "So we'll do bounty hunting." His suggestion earned him an artless snort and 'are you serious' look from Dean and that, in Cas' book, was progress.

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Sam answered his phone on the third ring. "Wow, if it's nine o'clock in the morning here, its seven there. Didn't think you knew how to open your eyes before eight?" he teased, loved the sound of Jessica's laughter as it filtered through the phone.  
>"Hey, I was making the sacrifice to call my boyfriend before he got started with his day, didn't want to interrupt his family time," though her words were light, there was a question there.<p>

Aware that Jess was more than curious about his family, wanted him to dish on how exactly his "family" time was going, Sam hesitated, his eyes straying to the front seat, to Dean. He wasn't free to speak and even if he was, he wasn't sure what to tell Jess, didn't really know how things stood between him and Dean. Yeah, Dean was including him on the case but he was starting to realize that that didn't mean his brother was necessarily including him in his life. He had seen Dean work with people he hated, his brother would do that and even more distasteful things if it could make a difference, allowed him to save lives.

Jess perceptively replied, "Can't talk right now, huh? Dean's there?"

"Yeah, maybe I can call you later, tonight?" Sam vaguely returned, asking for a reprieve.

"Sam, we've barely talked since you ran out of that party and did a Speed Racer to the airport," Jess pressed gently but her frustration was peeking through.

"I know," Sam mumbled, knew he was the worst boyfriend in the world, especially in light of all that he hadn't shared with Jess about his life, about his family. "And we'll talk…"

"When?" Jess demanded because even she knew she was getting the runaround.

"I'm in the middle of…."

"Something you don't want to tell me about, that you don't want me to be a part of," anger stirring in Jess' words for the first time. "Sam, you barely even mentioned your brother to me! We've been dating for almost two years and the first time I learned that your brother was a detective was a couple days ago."

"It's …complicated," Sam stammered. Dean was complicated, their father was complicated, their lives, they weren't what others would call normal. Not when revenge had been the focal point practically since he was born, since his mother was murdered.

But Jess was apparently tired of giving him leeway. "No, what it is…is something you think is none of my business."

"Jess, it's not that," Sam protested, detected the hurt in his girlfriend's tone, hurt he had put there.

"Then prove it. Come home and tell me everything," Jess demanded.

"I….we'll talk…." Sam faltered, honestly didn't know if he could open up to Jess, wanted to. His family, their pain, it wasn't something he put on display. Didn't want pity….or even understanding. Wanted it to never exist in the world he lived in, in the world he had created for himself in California. '_Yeah, a world of lies, a world that's all sunshine and no looking back, a world without your family, without Dean_.'

Irrationally afraid that fate would step in now that he was beginning to see the error of his ways, would exact revenge on him for his callous rejection of his brother, Sam's eyes darted again to the comforting presence of his big brother, who was engaged in a conversation with Cas. He had nearly been made to pay the ultimate price for his betrayal to Dean: to have his brother taken away from him. '_Not gonna happen_,' Sam silently vowed, forgetting about Jess until she spoke again.

"Why don't I believe you?" Jess quietly confronted, her voice cracking. "When you were leaving….you couldn't even look me in the eye. And you didn't tell me how long you would be gone, just said you needed to go be with your brother. And I didn't press, but now you're still being evasive, won't tell me what's happening there or when you're coming home."

Suddenly, it hit Sam, hard, the thought of leaving, of letting go of Dean again, of going back to his safe life when he knew Dean's lifestyle was the epitome of danger. And Jess had misquoted him. He hadn't said he needed to go _be_ with his brother. He had said he had to go _**home**_ to his brother. Was it possible for your heart to claim two places as home?

"Sam, aren't you even going to say something," Jess nearly pleaded.

"Look Jess, we'll talk, I'll tell you what's going on but it's got to be later, Ok. Can't you just…trust me?"

"I thought I could Sam. But then again, I thought I knew you better than I knew anyone else. I'm starting to see how wrong I was. Call me tonight or…." And it felt like an ultimatum belonged in the silence before Jess ended the call with, "Bye Sam."

"Bye," Sam said to the disconnected airways, sat immobile, cellphone in his lax hand and wondered when things had gotten out of control, out of _**his**_ control. Remembering that he wasn't alone, that his conversation, his portion anyways, was overhead, his head snapped to the car's other occupants. But the two men in the front seat were embroiled in their own conversation, and if the edge to Dean's words were any indication, it was as tension filled as his with Jess had been.

"I'm not some charity case. I don't need your family stepping in to my business. This is between my dad and me!"

"Yeah, it is. And where is he again?"Cas snarkily shot back at Dean, though he almost wished that he hadn't offhandedly suggested that his family might be able to hold back the hounds that were after the Winchester detective license.

"What's between you and Dad?" Sam demanded, as he slid forward in the seat until he could rest his forearms on the front bench seat, was able to switch his look between Dean and Cas.

"Nothing," came matching grumbles from both men as they broke their heated eye contact and stoically looked out the windshield.

'_Yeah, nothing_,' Sam sarcastically thought, frustrated and angry that he wasn't being included in whatever disagreement was unfolding between the two men. A disagreement that he knew revolved around the phone message his father had left for Dean, a message Cas had heard and he hadn't. A message that Dean didn't see fit to share with him, _his own brother_. It was so wrong that he wasn't being clued in on his own family's affairs.

'_Being kept in the dark, it isn't nice, is it? No wonder Jess is so pissed at you, huh?_'

Sam promptly told his little voice where to go.

Kenvert's head of research, Peter Wesfield, walked into his living room but it was someone else who turned on the lights in the room.

"Howdy," Dean greeted from his comfy prone position on the man's couch, casually dropping his hand from the lamp he had turned on.

Wesfield froze a moment before he found his courage. "My security company will be here any moment."

"No, actually they won't," Cas contradicted as he stealthily came up behind the research scientist.

Swiveling his look from the man who was lazily lounging on his couch to the man sporting a nasty cut on his forehead that was hovering at his back, Wesfield demanded, "What do you want? Money? Take whatever you find to your liking…"

Coming off the couch, Dean smiled and cavalierly approached the man who had put the bounty on his head. "Pretending you don't know who I am, I like that," a hint of real admiration in his tone.

"I **don't** know you," Wesfield calmly protested.

Coming in from a side room, Sam scoffed, "Try not to blink so much when you lie. It's a real give away."

Stance tensing as the numbers against him grew, Wesfield shifted back a step, came to a harsh stop as he almost backed into Cas. "Just tell me what you want!" fear finally making an appearance in the tick in his left eye.

Coming to stand in front of Wesfield, Dean reached into the man's suit, pulled out his cellphone and tossed it to Cas. Then he stepped closer, drilled Wesfield with his penetrating green gaze. "Did you know it was going to get this messy? Is it worth the money?" He made a show of giving the opulently furnished room a sweeping once over. "Honestly, you don't look like you need the money, especially not bad enough to kill for it."

"I did not kill anyone," Wesfield maintained, "and I'm calling the police if you don't leave immediately," he threatened, stepping toward the phone on his desk.

Wesfield gave a startled cry as he was yanked backwards by Cas but it soon turned into a terrified shout as gunfire erupted almost simultaneously and a bullet splintered the wooden paneling in the wall, right where he would have been if the other man hadn't pulled him back two steps. "Are you crazy?" he yelled, turning to Dean but his eyes were fearfully drawn to the recently discharged gun in the man's hand.

Sam honestly wasn't sure who jumped more at the gunfire, him or Wesfield, felt his heart leap into his throat, bit back asking Dean the same question Wesfield had, until he saw the sly eye exchange between Dean and Cas. They had **planned** that, timed it perfectly, were practically holding back their smiles of enjoyment as their little con played out. A con they hadn't needed words to set up, a con that they had apparently done before, or hadn't _needed_ to do before. They just were that in synch, words were not needed. '_And Dean and I, our actions always seem to tear us apart and our words, they finish the job, burn down the bridges between us as they collapse_.'

Slamming Wesfield ruthlessly against the nearest wall and knocking the breath from him, Dean spat, "I probably am crazy but mostly I'm pissed." Pressing his hand across the man's chest, Dean leaned closer, "Now tell me about the weapon, who's selling it for you or my next target practice will be a bit more uncomfortable," and he pressed the gun muzzle into Wesfield's thigh.

Wesfield paled and his adam's apple bobbed but he remained silent.

Coming to lean against the wall beside Wesfield, Cas helpfully suggested, "Maybe you should shoot his hand. Not a lot of work for a one handed research scientist."

Taking Cas' counsel to heart, Dean pinned Wesfield's hand to the wall with the gun muzzle, asked of his best friend, "Palm or fingers?"

"Fingers," Sam advised, wanting to be a part of this, to torment the man who had sought to kill his brother. Taking a casual seat on the desk, he swung his long legs, reminisced, "I remember breaking my two fingers as a kid and I couldn't even dress myself."

"And that's different from now, how?" Dean sallied back, shooting a look to Sam, purposefully dragging his eyes disdainfully up from his brother's choice of shoes up to the shirt he wore, as if appalled by his little brother's fashion sense. Sam rolled his eyes.

Turning back to his victim, Dean shrugged, "Fingers it is," shifting the gun to Wesfield's digits and cocking it.

"No! Don't!" Wesfield howled trying to slip away from Dean's hold, but his escape was pre-empted by Cas punch to his gut.

"I'm still not hearing a confession. You hear one?" Dean posed to Cas, who shook his head and returned, "Nope. Start with the thumb. Surprisingly, it's the digit that he'll miss the most."

Dean's finger was settling on the trigger when Wesfield broke down. "Yes. Yes! I worked out a deal to sell the weapon," his words came out breathless and harsh and his frame trembled.

Tiling his head, Dean unleashed one of his deadliest smiles. "We're all friends here..." Leaning closer, he clamped a heavy hand on the man's shoulder and he mock whispered in his prey's ear, ".. so tell me what Harry Mason's life was worth, what a weapon like that will bring on the black market."

Eyes wide, as if he understood just what he had been a party to, what a confession would likely mean, "I don't…." Wesfield began to refute.

But Dean pressed the gun to the man's chest, hissed, "Enough!" Fisting his hands in the researcher's shirt, he growled, "When Mason decided to terminate the military contract and told the press the weapon was a failure, you knew it was your chance to go it solo, didn't you? Why did you kill Mason? Did he find out that you were planning on selling it privately to the top bidder and threaten to report it to the police? Or did he want too much of a cut of the profits? What!"

"I didn't know they would kill him!" Wesfield nearly shouted, managed to say the next words with a measure of control. "When Mason didn't like how portable the weapon was, the level of devastation it could exact, he talked about building in more safety measures but I didn't think he'd squash the whole deal."

"So Mason turned down the military contract. All that money. And you couldn't stomach that," Sam surmised, revulsion in his tone.

"Mason, he had more than enough money. For him, it was about something else," Wesfield distastefully explained.

"He was an ex-military man. He believed in means of defense…not devastation," Cas concluded, the pieces coming together more firmly.

"Bad time to get a moral bone in his body," Mason's once trusted head researcher sneered.

"You didn't have that crisis of conscience, though," Sam condemned, coming off the desk, he stood at Dean's side.

"I put years of my life into that weapon and it _worked_!" Wesfield spat, glared at his accusers, fury rising at their lack of comprehension. "Worked better than we ever dreamed it could. And Mason wanted me to trash it, went about disgracing my reputation, telling the world that I had failed when I had succeeded where no one else had before."

"So you cooked a deal to sell it," Cas quietly said, Wesfield's motives suddenly glaringly clear.

"Yes! Yes I did," Wesfield brashly admitted, proud of his genius and taking the opportunity to gloat.

"But you knew that, sooner or later, Harry Mason would have found out that you didn't destroy the weapon. And since you couldn't buy his silence, you decided to kill him, make it look like a suicide so there would be no investigation and your little black market Ebay transaction could happen without anyone the wiser," Dean grimly realized. "Except Mason's father didn't believe that his son would commit suicide."

Certain that the cowering man in Dean's grasp didn't have the spine to commit murder, Cas demanded, "So who took Mason out of the picture? You said you didn't know _they_ would kill Mason, so who are they?"

Wesfield snorted, rested his head back against the wall and leveled a derogatory glare at Dean. "I told him you weren't a threat, that you didn't know anything. You really didn't, did you? Not till now. I could have saved my money …."

"You hired the gang to kill Dean," Sam growled, itched to land a blow to the man who had callously tried to take his brother away from him.

Wesfield shrugged smugly, "We all had our parts to play." Facing Dean, he confessed without a shred of shame, "I paid those hoodlums to do a driveby shooting, thought, even if they were incompetent and you lived, it would at least get your focus off Mason's death.

"And you figured we'ld never connect the shooting to the case," Cas said quietly, eyes slipping to Dean, grateful that his best friend had thwarted Wesfield's plans, all the way around. In his gut, Cas knew that if Dean had died, rational thought wouldn't have been his first stopping point. That the streets would be minus a delinquent gang and it would have been bloody. Focusing again on Wesfield, he sneered, "So who's the mastermind behind it because it's certainly not you," waited for the scientist to rat out his military co-conspirator.

Turning his head to face Cas, Wesfield growled, "Why would I tell you that? I'll be as dead as Mason if I do." Then pointedly looking to Dean, he hissed, "Just like they're going to kill you to shut you up."

"I'm not dead yet," Dean boasted with a cocky smile. Then he looked to Cas. "Cas, I was just wondering if Peter here made any interesting calls lately, say on the day Mason committed '_suicide_'."

Cas accessed the cell phone's call log and smiled up at Dean. "We have a winner."

Dean smiled darkly at Wesfield. "Bet that's your partner in this. Did you call to congratulate him on murdering Mason or to beg him not to make you his next target?" When Wesfield turned his head to face the wall and remained silent, Dean, conversationally suggested to his associate, "I got it, Cas. Why don't we just hold a conference call. I'll tell Peter's partner how helpful he's being, that he told me everything I wanted to know. Maybe even give him the heads up that I'm coming for him next."

Wesfield made a panicked grab for the phone but Sam pinned his hand against the wall, leaned in close. "They will kill you when they are done with you. You have to know that."

"They need me," Wesfield persisted.

"Today," Cas conceded before he crushed the other man's false hope, "until they know the weapon works for them. After that…" he shrugged, let the other man read the gesture as he desired.

"Make that call, Cas," Dean ordered, eyes not leaving Wesfield's.

"No!" Wesfield shouted. "He'll kill me!"

"It's ringing," Cas merrily passed on, phone to his ear.

"What do you want from me?" Wesfield beseeched, his eyes widening as Cas put the phone on speaker so he could hear the ringing.

"The name of your partner? Tell me who killed Harry Mason!" Dean shouted, pressing Wesfield harder into the wall.

"Colonel Ersman! Colonel Ersman! End the call. End the CALL!"

Casually, Cas cancelled the call before it was answered. "Ersman was part of the original military contract detail?"

Wesfield hesitated but when Cas made a gesture to hit the call button again, he readily admitted, "Yeah, yes. Ok, yes! He was in charge of security for the transfer of the weapon to the base. When the contract fell apart, Ersman told me he had a way for my weapon to still be utilized, that all my hard work…it didn't have to be in vain."

"And you never bothered to ask who would be using it," Sam bitterly condemned.

"He didn't care," Dean growled, releasing the man like he thought Wesfield's moral corruptibility was something he could catch. Pointing with his gun to the security cameras in the room, he recommended, "I would invest in a better security company…and a really really _really_ expensive attorney."

Watching his three home invaders leave, Wesfield wasn't sure what he should do first: call and warn Ersman or pack his bags and get out of town.

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"You know he's calling the Colonel right now," Sam warned as the threesome stepped out of Wesfield's home.

"So? What's he gonna do? Try and kill us? Been there, tried that," Dean brazenly sallied back.

From Dean's other side, Cas quietly said, "He might run."

"Nah. Don't you know those colors don't run. Marines never retreat," Dean rebuffed.

With a tone of affectionate exasperation, Sam corrected, "The Marines motto is '_never leave a man behind_.'"

Dean shrugged indifferently. "Whatever."

"We need to find out where Ersman is right now, start tracking him," Cas strategized.

"He's probably on the Navy base and it's not like we can set up surveillance in there…" Sam dispiritedly predicted.

But his words caused a smile to quickly emerge on Cas' features. "We can if we know someone who has access to the base," his eyes coming to rest on Dean.

"Who?" Dean shot back, suspiciously. "Your grandfather?" his tone of voice conveying how much he wanted to be beholden to Cas' granddaddy.

With a Cheshire cat smile, Cas vaguely said, "Oh, I was thinking of someone a little less high profile."

A dawning of comprehension slowly showed on Dean's features and his expression of mild objection of a second ago turned into one of downright distaste. "No! No way. He almost got me killed!" Dean heatedly railed.

"But in the end, he saved you," Cas smugly pointed out.

Turning to face his best friend, Dean demanded, "And that wipes away all his sins?"

Seriousness entered Cas' eyes and he earnestly stated, "For me it does." Then his tone turned light again as he headed to the Impala, this time to the back seat. "If we're lucky, we'll catch him at home."

"Yeah, _lucky_," Dean unhappily muttered.

"So who are we meeting?" Sam asked, gave Cas a little surprised look for forfeiting the front seat without a fight, to which Cas just smirked. The man was about as complicated as Dean was.

Getting into the car, Cas waited until Dean and Sam had claimed the front seats before he answered. "My cousin, Gabriel. He's an NCIS agent."

"And a sadist," Dean sarcastically tacked on.

But Cas defended, "You know he only screws around with people he likes."

"Wow, that's messed up," Dean glibly shot back, sending his best friend a fake glare in the rearview mirror. The next breath he was advising his little brother, "Pray he hates you, Sammy."

"If you want me to set up a meeting with my Grandfather instead then you could finally meet him," Cas threatened, knew that Dean had an aversion to people in authority.

"Fine, but don't blame me if we end up in the brig after I go off and punch him," Dean tossed back, had heard enough about the Angelo's patriarch to know he hated that the man treated Cas like an outsider just because he was forging his own path, had thrown his lots in with him.

"So Gabriel it is," Cas smugly proclaimed, couldn't help but smile because he knew that, Dean's inclination to dislike his grandfather who he had never even met, it was all due to his friend's protective nature of the people he cared about. Namely him.

In that respect, Cas and Dean, they were so much alike it was scary.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the lovely compliments on last chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	12. Chapter 12: Allies and Allegiances

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Because the guys needed to focus on getting the plot in place to take down the bad guys, there's no action this chapter. So be prepared for talk and more talk but hopefully it's not too boring.

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Chapter 12: Allies and Allegiances

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Sam had always been good at reading body language and right now, Cas's was reading relief while Dean's was shouting obscenities as the threesome stood at Cas' cousin's door. As for himself, Sam was torn between trusting Dean's instincts about Gabriel and liking the guy for the same reason Cas trusted him: he had apparently saved Dean's life on a prior case. Before he could determine the deciding factor, the door swung open to reveal a light brown haired man with a ready smirk.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in. You two…plus one," Gabriel drawled, eyes shifting from his cousin and his cousin's BFF to the unknown tall guy.

In greeting, Dean scowled and stalked right past Gabriel and into the apartment.

Turning around to watch his 'guest', Gabriel caustically said, "Don't wait for an invitation. Walk right in." Followed it with a sugary cajole. "Are you here to thank me for all the fun we had last time?"

Entering the apartment and the fray, Cas slipped between Dean and his cousin and put a restrictive hand on Dean's shoulder to hold back his friend's forward charge. Gave Dean a 'behave' glare before he turned to Gabriel. "We need your help."

"And why would I help you two chuckleheads," Gabriel mockingly retorted. "I've been riding a desk for the last two months because of what happened last time."

"Riding a desk?" Dean incredulously repeated, stepping forward, was again road-blocked by Cas' presence. "You almost got me killed!"

Gabriel gifted Dean with a dazzling, patronizing smile. "Dean, Dean, at no time were you in danger. Well, except for when they opened fired on you," he allowed with a laugh and a gleam in his eyes before he turned to Cas. "Cousin, aren't you going to introduce me to your little friend?" jerking his head toward Sam, who had timidly entered the apartment, also without invitation and had closed the door to keep the neighbors from hearing the raised voices.

"Gabriel, this is Sam Winchester," Cas presented, hand waving between the two men.

"Another Winchester," Gabriel said with mock enthusiasm. "Is this a reunion? Are we gonna hit the town tonight looking for women?"

"No," Dean growled, not open to the idea of spending any more time than necessary with the other man.

Gabriel rolled his eyes at Dean's refusal. "You're the killjoy you've always been." But then he focused on Sam, loved having another audience member to amaze with his witty dialogue. "Sam, can I assume you're the reasonable one in your family?" He didn't let Sam make a reply before he pressed on. "So tell me why I should risk my career and probably my life to help save your brother's life?" He didn't back down when Sam paled at his bluntness. "I mean, that is what we're talking about right? I heard about the gun fight at Hammond Street. Well, wasn't much of a "fight", though was it? It was just dumb luck you didn't go to meet your Maker."

Though Dean's eyes shot daggers at Gabriel it was Cas who slammed his cousin against the wall, the warning in his eyes even more deadly than his bruising grip.

"Don't," Cas venomously spat, pressing Gabriel harder into the wall. Yes, the man was his cousin, was family, but that didn't mean he could disrespect Dean, could make a joke out of Dean almost _dying_. His family ties didn't run _that_ deep.

Pacifyingly raising his hands, Gabriel met Cas' heated gaze, back pedaled, "Hey, Ok, alright. I crossed the line. My bad." Straightening his shirt when he found himself released of his cousin's hold, he turned again to Sam, raised his eyebrows expectantly, was stilling waiting for an answer.

Sam pursed his lips in irritation. He shouldn't have to convince the guy to help them, not when Gabriel _knew_ Dean's life was in danger. "You want off desk duty, we're your ticket to see that happen."

"Hmmmm. Gotta say I'm intrigued," Gabriel replied, waving them to the kitchen where he played host and tossed out cans of soda. Hopping up to take a seat on his countertop, he surmised, "Let me jump ahead a few pages. This has something to do with Kenvert's CEO's demise, a military grade weapon contract and I'm guessing a bad guy wearing Navy Blues."

"Yes," came the resounding answer from all three of his visitors.

Giving a carefree shrug, Gabriel announced, eyes sliding to Dean's, "I might be in….but I want full credit on the bust. No little news articles saying how Winchester Investigations swooped in and saved the day."

"All credit to you," Dean instantly agreed.

Tilting his head at Dean's quick capitulation, Gabriel prodded, "Not that I want to complain but that was wwwwaaaayyyy too easy." But then a light seemed to turn on and he snapped his fingers. "Oh, I forgot. No amount of good publicity will help you now. But you really want to go out on a win, don't you?" Noting how still Winchester became, it was answer enough for Gabriel. But he wasn't expecting to feel a twinge of sympathy for the other man, hastily tramped it down as soon as it emerged. Dean Winchester was nothing but trouble, would pull you down with him. Cas was proof enough of that. No, it was best if he kept disliking the man, didn't bother getting attached to someone who was just going to crash and burn sooner rather than later. '_Now if only Cas would wise up_.'

"What do you mean?" Sam slowly asked, his eyes coming to rest on Dean, didn't like it one bit that his brother refused to meet his gaze.

Swinging his attention from Dean to Sam, Gabriel scoffed lightly, "Didn't your big brother tell you?" But Sam's jumping jaw clench said it all. "Your family business is going belly up. Everything must go." To Dean he posed his next question, "It's Monday when they'll be coming to lock your doors, right? No, you have until Monday to renew your dick license. It's _Tuesday_ when the locks go on. Why they'ld bother with your office in the state it's in, I wouldn't know. Swiss cheese has less holes…"

"Dean?" Sam huskily entreated, needing answers. His gut dropped to his shoes at the guilty, miserable look Dean shot to him before his brother looked away, faced Gabriel.

"Are you going to help us or not?" Dean demanded, knew that, as much as he was pissed at Gabriel for airing out his dirty laundry, Cas was right, they needed the NCIS agent.

Almost merrily, Gabriel conceded, "Sure. None of my cases are hot right now." But then he turned his smart aleck smirk on Cas, finally understood the family gossip he had been disinclined to believe, until now. "I guess I know why you finally agreed to meet with Grandfather. You're looking for your next career." And he felt hopeful that his cousin was wising up, was going to leave Winchester behind, would actually have a shot at not dying a young man.

Cringing at how Dean would react to Gabriel's totally wrong assumption about why he was meeting with his grandfather, Cas turned to Dean, wanted to clear things up immediately. But Dean's expression was unyielding and cold, told him that his friend believed that he was already making other plans, was only too happy to bail on him.

Hurt that Cas hadn't even waited for the agency doors to close before he dusted off his resume and fearing that Sam would start grilling him about the license situation, Dean briskly brought the focus back to the case, to what mattered more than the rehashing of things they couldn't change. Directed at Garbriel, "Why don't you focus on _your _career and give me the run down on a Colonel Ersman who was running the security detail for Kenvert's busted contract."

"Wow, pushy much?" Gabriel snarked back, cheekily folding his arms over his chest and not moving a muscle.

At the standoff, Sam internally sighed, didn't know how it was that out of three people who were his elders, he ended up being the adult. "Please, Gabriel. The sooner we put the pieces together, the sooner we'll get out of your hair."

"Now that's motive," the NCIS agent shot back, leaping off the counter and pulling out his cellphone. It took him only a few seconds before he was using his surprising charm on the woman on the other end of the connection.

"Ah, Loretta, darling, if I knew you had the weekend shift I never would have left Friday night." Whatever the woman responded with, it made Gabriel give a tiger growl of appreciation. "Definitely sign me up for a rain check. So, while you're in the office already…." He lightly began his lead in to the favor. His wink at Cas indicated that his co-worker was more than agreeable to play nice. "Colonel Erman and his unit, they would have had the security detail for that DOA deal for Kenvert Weapons."

Shooting an annoyed look to Dean, he answered his fellow NCIS agent's unheard question. "Riiiggght. That hottie detective that got shot was looking into Kenvert's head honcho's demise. Sorry, sweetheart, but I heard he didn't make it, died in his own blood….cowering under his desk, blubbering like a baby. You know those private _dicks_, more talk than action."

Cas couldn't hold back his smile, broke out into true laughter when Dean shoulder bumped him and leveled a lethal glare at him. "What? That's funny!" he laughingly defended.

In the meantime, Gabriel had wrapped up his conversation. Exiting his kitchen, he was followed by the three other men like he was the friggin' Pied Piper. Snagging a chair, he dragged it over to his computer desk, and his fingers began flying over the keys to access his income mail.

Suddenly the screen was filled with formal naval forms. "Colonel Denny Ersman, decorated hero from Iraq to Afghanistan, recommendation up the wazoo and not one citation of misconduct," Gabriel read before he opened another document that showed a headshot of said colonel. "Wounded in combat back in 2010 and reassigned to his current detail. His team…." But Dean's hand shot out, arrested Gabriel's hand before the NCIS agent could move to open another document, to cover up the picture.

Reacting immediately to Dean's action, to the stillness in his boss's features, Cas stepped forward, flanked Dean. "What is it, Dean?" he prodded, his gut tightening because he had hung out long enough with Winchester to sense when the other man was about to make a startling revelation.

Dean pointed to the picture of the black, late fifty year old colonel. "He was in the hospital." Then his eyes met Cas' "He talked to me."

Cas paled, felt his heart thud in his chest at the thought that the man who wanted his best friend dead had been up close and personal with Dean. Had been at the hospital, when Dean couldn't have defended himself against a ninety pound nurse let alone a battle trained soldier. "When?" he lowly demanded, already calculating when the man had had the opportunity to get near Dean. '_And where was I when this guy was trying to make his move against Dean?'_

Standing up straight, Dean scowled, knew that he had been played, tersely bit out, "I was sitting in the corridor… while you cleared up the AMA paperwork."

Cas venomously cursed and agitatedly rubbed his hand over his mouth. He had only been a few feet away from Dean and yet it had almost been too far. If Ersman had thought it was enough of an opening….Cas stomach dropped to his toes. He could have come back to Dean's side to find his friend dead.

Sam's mind was whirling, was trying to come to terms with the fact that Ersman had been there, within touching distance of Dean…and by some miracle or mercy, he had left his brother slip away unscathed. '_And you would have arrived in town too late to save Dean. And even though Cas was only a few steps away, he might have not been in time to stop it either_.' And that knowledge, it was written all over Cas' face, the curse the other detective let loose Sam liken to a scream.

"What did he say to you?" Sam roughly asked of Dean, wanted to know what Ersman talked about to a man he wanted to murder.

Cutting his eyes to Sam, Dean raised his hands in frustration. "I don't know. I was looped up on pain meds."

'_Vulnerable_,' Cas bitterly interpreted Dean's admission. Dean was vulnerable and he had left him unprotected. '_And I was supposed to be there to keep him safe. All that crap I gave Sam about not being there when Dean needed him …and I wasn't. Not at the office the other night, not even in the friggin' hallway of the hospital.'_

Sensing Dean's uneasiness at this newest shocking piece of the puzzle, Sam patiently gentled his tone, "Alright. Ok. Well, do you remember if he made you uncomfortable?"

Dean's pissed expression told Sam that his tactics had hit a sour note with his brother. "_Uncomfortable_?" Dean growled in disgust. "What am I, a teenage girl that talks to creepy van guys? No, he didn't make me" and he put the next words in air quotes, "_uncomfortable_. We talked….joked," his last word coming out as a hiss, maddened that he hadn't experienced even a pang of warning, had sat there chatting up his would-be murderer. '_Maybe I've lost my touch, that it's a good thing I'm getting out of the game before my gut instincts totally fry and I get someone killed._' And the last persons on earth he wanted to put in danger…where the two people that were foolish enough to not leave his side when he was number-one-with-a-bullet for a combat trained military unit.

"Maybe it was a veiled threat…." Sam suggested, still using that gentle, I'm-talking-to-a- traumatized-victim tone that Dean tended to respond to even when he didn't want to.

Hating that Sam was pulling that tone on him, Dean railed against it, against his brother's new age, I'm-here-and-together-we'll-make-everything-alright tone. After all, he was the big brother. "Oh wait, I remember now…" paused until Sam, Cas and even Gabriel eyed him with anticipation before he continued, "…I think he said, 'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,'" delivering the Princess Bride movie line with the appropriate accent.

Grounding his teeth, Sam spit out, "Dean, be serious!" It was just like his brother to think sharing a joke with someone who wanted him dead was just another quirk of his job. That it was just run of the mill, not creepy and scary as heck. And if it wasn't unnerving for Dean, it sure was for Sam, for the people who _liked_ Dean, alive and well.

Dean exhaled, knew that he had pushed Sam, and by the glint in Cas' eyes, his best friend too, to their limit. Meanwhile, Gabriel was smirking. '_At least someone appreciates my humor_.'

"Dean!" Sam demanded, was a breath away from stepping into Dean's personal space and shaking him.

Trying to appease his little brother, Dean tiredly returned, "Sam, I don't know what you want me to say. He didn't make me uncomfortable, he didn't threaten me, he didn't even try to strangle me with a rubber glove."

"He would have wanted to if he really knew you," Gabriel put his two cents in, held his hands up in surrender when he was the target of three deadly glares. "I'm just saying…." And then he returned his focus to his emails.

"So did your bailing out of the hospital at 2am derail his plans to finish you off or …." Cas began to theorize.

" …or did he want to see if I recognized him, knew as much about his black market deal as he thought I did?" Dean jumped in.

"All this conjecture is fun but can we move on," Gabriel interrupted the brainstorming, pointed at his computer screen and the three men pictured there. "This is the rest of Ersman's security team."

"Manny, Moe and Jack," Dean undertoned, leaning in to get a better look but he didn't recognizing any of the three soldiers.

Cas couldn't claim the same. "They were the ones at your house," he announced, eyes again finding Dean's, watched in surprise as his friend's eyes darken with promised retribution. '_Guess I'ld want pay back too if they almost blew up my house.'_

But the payback, it wasn't about Dean's own near miss with way too much C-4, it was about Cas' face painted with bruises and his best friend's abused torso, it was about _Sam_ walking into that house at his side. Things had gone beyond personal when they targeted Cas and Sam. Way beyond. "So the whole unit's dirty."

Gabriel spun his chair around to face the two Winchesters and his cousin. "Dare I ask if you have something as trivial as evident?"

"Cas can testify those three men planted the bombs and Kenvert's head researcher can swear that he and Ersman have the weapon and are putting it out to the highest bidder," Sam provided, proud that his years in pre-law were being useful in his family business.

"Uh hun," Gabriel unenthusiastically gave back. "I don't see the head researcher here and if Cas tangled with bomb planting super soldiers, which his face attests that he did, then the police should already be tracking down Ersman's merry men of three…..except," here he turned to Dean, "you did what you always do and kept things close to your vest, didn't want the cops taking down your bad guys."

Dean stoic expression was answer enough.

"And the head researcher, the co-conspirator?" Gabriel asked, looking to Sam.

"We uh….left him at his house an hour ago…" Sam supplied reluctantly.

"And now he's in the wind. They teach you this in detective school, Winchester, to let all your viable witnesses go to Mexico?" Gabriel taunted Dean.

But Dean smirked instead of scowled. "No, but **Cas** taught me that affidavits and witnesses and evidence, it's all useless when you're going up against an established power's coverup. Your Navy chain of command would never publically prosecute any of their own. The only way justice gets served is to make the powers-that-be rat out their own."

Gabriel tilted his head in confusion."Meaning?"

"We find what the Navy brass does care about: the weapon. And we offer to turn it over to them in exchange for their prosecution of Ersman and his men for the murder of Harry Mason," Dean laid out his plans.

Gabriel knocked his palm against his head as if he were checking if something rattled. "I must have missed the part where you have proof that Mason was murdered by Ersman. My hearing, it comes and goes sometimes…was why I never went the military route."

"We will have evidence," Dean vowed. "Ersman's three amigos will give him up."

"Right. You going to torture it out of them? These guys are trained to withstand water boarding, drugs, their _limbs_ being cut off. And what, you three are going to break them? Get them to turn on a guy they would follow literally into hell?" Gabriel scoffed though he was smiling like it was some joke. "Now that would be an awesome trick…if you had any hope of pulling it off."

"They are loyal to each other in combat, yeah. But let's see how tight they are when they think their beloved colonel is cutting them out of the profits," Dean supplied, making his eyebrows jump in their own version of a cocky dance.

"So let me get this straight. You want me to help you get the weapon from Ersman so you can _blackmail_ the military, aka my employee, to indict Ersman and his men for murder without one _shred_ of evidence. And this, this is somehow going to be _good_ for my career?" the NCIS agent jeered, leaning back in his chair, just waiting to hear how Winchester thought he could change the stink on that scenario.

But it wasn't Winchester who spoke up but Cas. "The military wants Kenvert's weapon, badly. If we can put that into their hands, they will trade Ersman for it, no matter how many medals he has pinned to his chest."

"Alright, let's say this fairy tale has a hope in hades of working. How do you get Ersman's unit to think he's dealing behind their back?" Gabriel asked, thought he had them stumped until Dean Winchester's toothy smile emerged.

"We have Ersman's "middle man" bump into them, let slip that the deal was going down tomorrow morning. _Without them_. But he wanted to move the time table up, to tonight…."

Latching onto his brother's line of thinking, Sam finished, with a proud smile at his brother's craftiness, " …and you hope they decide to double cross their colonel, get the weapon and try to do their own deal. And when they do, we have them and they'll fold on Ersman since they think he tried to cheat them out of their cut of the profits."

Dean nodded, turned back to Gabriel, who, like it or not, was the key player in his sting operation. "Course that middle man will have to be someone Ersman's men don't know. They've been trying to gank us," his hand gesture encompassing himself, Sam and Cas, "all over town, so we're out. And it would have to be someone who could pull off sleezy, someone without scruples, someone who would care more about their own hide than anything else enough to mediate a blackmarket sale of a US weapon to the hightest bidder."

Gabriel waved his hand at Dean in an 'aw shucks' gesture. "Oh, stop, you're embarrassing me with all those compliments."

"So you're in?" Cas prodded, knew that Gabriel was a wily one to corner. "You can do this under the radar?"

"I can…." Gabriel drew out, "….doesn't mean I should. This could all go up in a puff of smoke, no weapon, no evidence, just me standing around with my butt blowing in the wind."

"I'll let it slip to Grandfather that it was _Raphael_ who sent that stripper-gram to his picnic with the joints of staff…" Cas enticed, a twinkle of admiration in his eyes for his cousin's guts and ingenuity.

"So that's it? You think everyone has their price, huh? How cynical of you, Cas. Guess that means you do too and if anyone can ferret out what it is, Grandfather can," Gabriel predicted, could see the startled worry in his cousin's demeanor as that very fear took root. "But you're not wrong. I do have my price. You'll tell Grandfather that Raphael did the stripper gram AND put the alligator in his jeep."

"That was you?" Cas asked with doubt.

With a wide smile Gabriel self-praised, "If I have to say so myself, it was my best work."

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It didn't take long for the plan to come together, not with two detectives, one NCIS agent and one Pre-law college graduate putting their heads together. And the first step, it was all resting on Gabriel's ability to sell slimy. Dean wasn't worried in the least.

Discretely pulling Gabriel aside from his brother and friend, Dean instructed, "When the deal's set for tonight, call me…not Cas," handing the federal agent his business card.

For the first time, Gabriel's clown persona wasn't in sight, instead the man's intent eyes seared into Dean's. "Sounds like Ersman's not the only one who's headed for a betrayal," judgment carrying in his words.

"Cas has a chance to walk away clean, to move onto better things, to the type of career making jobs that your grandfather can open for him. I'm not going to be the one to screw up his future…not again," Dean frankly said.

'_Like Cas is going to walk away from you_,' Gabriel internally snorted. His cousin was more likely to join a reggae band than abandon Winchester's side, **especially** when the crap was about to hit the fan. Aloud he inquired, "And your brother?"

Dean patted the right side of his jacket, "Has a plane to catch."

"You got it all figured out, don't you. So it's just going to be you and me, standing tall, making the bust of a life time?" Gabriel incredulously ventured, knew that Cas thought Winchester was a one man army but he wasn't all keen to test that theory.

Dean shook his head, a resolute set to his features. "No. It's just gonna be me. You set the meet, I'll go and round them up, bring them to you to sweat a confession out of them."

Though Gabriel posed his next words as a question, they really weren't. "And if they give up Ersman…."

"I'll volunteer to make a citizen's arrest," Dean vowed with a deadly smile, gave the NCIS agent a companionable pat on the chest and followed his brother and Cas out the door.

Suddenly alone, Gabriel sarcastically grumbled, "Yeah, all that sounds like the plan of a sane man…." He had never guessed in his wildest dreams that he would have to weigh his loyalties between Dean Winchester and his own cousin, between Cas' safety and future and Cas' happiness. Because he and Cas might not be kissing cousins but Gabriel knew that if Dean's stupid plan got the other man killed, Cas was going to take it hard. Very hard.

Cursing, Gabriel tossed Dean's business card on the table and ran his hands through his hair. Suddenly riding a desk didn't sound like such a bad way to spend the rest of the year.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and dropping me those so wonderful reviews!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	13. Chapter 13: A Good Job Doesn't Love You

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: To give credit where credit is due, this chapter title is from a Moonlighting Christmas episode.

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Chapter 13: A Good Job Doesn't Love You Back

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Slipping past Cas on his way to the Impala's driver's side, Dean sourly murmured close to his friend's ear, "Guess you don't need me as reference for your next job, do you?" his look laced with accusation. Then he walked away before Cas could speak, could try to defend himself. Because as much as Dean wanted Cas to walk away with his reputation intact, it stung that the other man was so friggin' eager to leave him behind, to strike "Winchester Investigations" from his resume and forget he ever had the misfortune of knowing one screwed up former detective named Dean Winchester.

Cas wasn't sure who he was more pissed at: Gabriel for planting the seeds of distrust in Dean's head, Dean for believing them or his Grandfather for attempting to strong arm him back under his wing with some well-placed gossip that was one hundred percent bullcrap. He was about to have a drag down fight with Dean to set the other man straight…when he got a look at Sam's face. Sam who was just starting to get an inkling that the world he had walked out on four years ago, it was nothing like the world he was in now, that Dean lived in. That their family business, it was in shambles, that his brother and father's relationship, it caused Dean more pain than pleasure and Sam walking back in right now, it might not have the ability to change a thing.

This time, Cas didn't concede the front seat to Sam. Wanted to shelter Dean from the upcoming brotherly confrontation for a little bit longer, give his friend time to reinforce his shields, to figure out how exactly to tell his younger brother what a royal loser their father was, that their dear old dad would rather dwell on a past he couldn't change than a future he could. That, when it came down to it, John cared more about his deceased wife than he ever would his living breathing son, either of them probably.

Sneaking a glance across the expansion of the car's front seat, Cas internally sighed at Dean's grim expression and began to dread the hours ahead. Because whenever Dean stopped talking and refused to meet his gaze, it was a sure bet that the man was about to do his best to shut him out. And that just wasn't acceptable. "Dean…" hated that the utterance of his friend's name oozed with need, hated more that Dean's look, when it finally met his, was a cold challenge to just try and lie to his face, say that he wasn't plotting his next career move.

It was just like Dean, to believe he would leave, that everyone, sooner or later, would leave him. That thought caused Cas' next words to come out with more gentleness than angry frustration, "Dean, my grandfather wouldn't give me the information I needed about the Kenvert contract unless I agreed to meet him for lunch."

"So, with one phone call you killed two birds with one stone," Dean shot back but then looked away. '_You say you want to give Cas a future but you're busy pissing all over it for him_.' Hands tightening on the steering wheel, he exhaled, shot Cas a remorseful closed mouth smile. "Sorry. I know it's a good thing, you talking to your family. And you've been wasting your talents…."

"Don't," Cas lowly threatened, wasn't sure he wouldn't deliver a punch if Dean finished his sentence, implied that being with him, them partnering up had been a wrong move. That Dean would try and negated everything they had done together the last few years, things that he was proud of, more proud of than anything else in his life. His blue eyes piercing Dean's shocked green ones, he fiercely stated, "That isn't your call to make…or my family's. It's mine. It's always been mine."

But Dean's submissive, almost sad nod of consent was far from a victory and his friend's hoarse, "I know," cut through Cas, made him wonder what conclusion Dean had taken from his declaration, because it surely wasn't the one that he had intended.

Before Cas could try and sort out the confusion, Dean flicked on the radio and filled the car's interior with classic rock music, made sure it was loud enough to make conversation nearly impossible. But it wasn't anywhere loud enough to stop the thoughts running through Cas' head, the dread that his partnership…maybe even his friendship with Dean was ending. And it was the very last thing he wanted.

Cutting the car's engine as he parked in the model home's driveway, Dean exited the car before his passengers could say a thing but he didn't walk away. Not until he dug his father's old cell phone out and tossed it over the Impala's roof to be deftly caught by Sam. Then, without a word, he stalked into the house.

Dread weaved itself around Sam's heart as he held the phone in his hand, had painful insight now what the voice mail message that Cas had listened to earlier was about. Remembered Cas' reply back to Dean when his brother asked why his friend had taken the phone, listened to the message, butted into his private affairs.

"_Because you wouldn't talk about it, because I knew you'ld take whatever crap __**he**__ said and think you deserved it, because you ask for help for other people, to help solve other people's problems but never your own_!"

At the time, Sam had assumed that the "he" Cas referred to was his and Dean's father. Now he prayed that it wasn't. Not when it was about this, not when it involved a threat to close the detective agency down, to take away his brother's biggest point of pride. But when he raised his eyes, saw that Dean was gone, was already in the house, his eyes shifted to Cas'. He silently cursed when he saw the sympathy in the other man's expression.

Giving Sam some privacy, Cas started to head for the house but, midway, he detoured to the sidewalk. Dean wasn't ready to listen to him and, in his experience, you had to scratch and pick and cajole a Winchester wall to come down. You couldn't knock it down, not unless you didn't care the damage you inflicted in the process. And he cared. Too much. So, instead of butting his head against that wall, he took a walk, pulled out his phone, hoped that Uriel had some good news because he could sure use some.

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Leaning against the Impala, gathering strength from their metal, unofficial fourth family member, Sam bit his lip a moment in trepidation before he manned up, accessed the first phone message. He cringed instead of reveled in the sound of his father's voice after its four year absence in his life.

"_Getting yourself on the news, is that your idea of good publicity, Dean! Between this and the licensing screw up, you're doing a bang up job."_

Sam hadn't thought he could hate his father more than he had that night, when, with a Stanford acceptance letter and a bus ticket in hand, his father's "if you leave, don't come back," had ushered him out the door of their house. Seemingly forever.

Now, that hatred was eclipsed. Overshadowed by his father's cold voice reaming Dean out about bad press, and their _business's future_, all the while, Dean had nearly not had a future of his own, had been shot, almost died. Cursing, eyes stinging with tears of fury, Sam pushed off the Impala, paced on the sidewalk, wanted to throw the phone against the nearest tree, to land a physical blow to his father, to somehow undo what had been done, unhear what had been said. What Dean had already heard …and taken to heart.

But there was another message on the phone, lying in wait like a landmine. A mine he could not help but trip.

As cruel as his father's voice had been, it was almost wrong how sympathetic the lawyer's was. The lawyer who clearly didn't know Dean on a personal level, only knew that he had saved his sister, that Dean was the kind of man who valued the lives of others.

It was almost too much, that, not only was the agency's license in jeopardy, but so was Dean's. That they had only until Monday, frigging two days, to renew it. And that only one thing could stop the worst from happening: their father's signature.

But in John Winchester's entire rant with his son, he hadn't once promised to miraculously show up and scribble his name on a document of renewal, had instead slipped in a threat.

'_I wouldna let you in charge of the agency if I knew you'd run it into the ground.'_

Sam had heard these types of threats his whole life, but never directed to him, always to John's eldest son, the son their father deemed trainable.

'_I should let you rot in jail for the night.' _And John had, had walked away from an incarcerated fifteen year old Dean.

'_You need to concentrate, remember what I taught you, Dean. Guess you'll figure that out after a few more broken bones.' _John made no offer to help as his youngest son aided his eldest to his one working foot on the floor mat that they had been training on.

'_And this was the man you honestly thought would keep Dean safe while you were gone? Would make sure that Dean would be there, alive, if …__when __you finally got up the courage to make that call, to put the pieces of your heart back together and beg your big brother to be a part of your life_.' Sam didn't know he had it in him to harbor such ludicrous naivety. Didn't know that, as bad as his relationship with his father had been, he had never really faced how much worse Dean's was, had never seen through Dean's "Dad's doing it to teach me how to keep us safe", "It was my fault and Dad had ever right to bust my butt for it," "You think the bad guys will stop just because you say 'ouch', that you get a little banged up. They won't and Dad knows that, knows I have to be able to work through the pain."

Crap, Dean had laid it all on himself, time after time: his fault, his naivety, his weakness. Had kept their father on a pedestal no matter what he did to him. Starkly, Sam finally understood why. Dean did it for him, so his little brother would look up to their father, would believe that, though they had lost their mother, their father's awesomeness made up for it. According to Dean, they had "…the coolest Dad in the world. He's a super hero."

Sam felt sick. What kind of twisted super hero, what kind of _Dad_, let their kid get hurt, no, _hurt_ their kid to prove a point? Would stand by…would stay away, just so they could destroy what their son loved. John had given the agency to Dean to run and now he would rather it turn to ash than see it prosper in his son's hands.

With fury, Sam sent the cellphone ricocheting off the spindly maple tree planted on the corner, its plastic pieces fertilizing the grassless yard. For the first time in twenty years, Sam ached for his mother, for **a** mother, for someone better than the parent they had, that Dean had. For someone to counter what John had done, and had not done. For someone to love Dean, protect Dean when no one else had been around to do. '_When I wasn't around to do it or too blind to know I should have done it_.'

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Dean was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning his guns when the front door opened, had him instinctively looking up. His insides clench when he saw his brother's flushed face, knew his brother's tells better than he knew his own, enough to know that Sam was upset. Way past upset. '_Here it comes_,' he warned, bracing himself for a fight to match the one Sam had had with their father on his I'm-leaving-for-college day.

But Sam didn't start in immediately, instead mutely walked to the table and claimed the chair to his right. And seeing Sam up close, it was worse, told Dean that upset wasn't the right word for what his brother was feeling. Heartbroken was. And he couldn't stand that, had to make it better for Sam. "Dad's got every right to be mad, Sam. I screwed up, didn't see the writing on the wall…."

"Don't defend him," Sam hoarsely broke in, not with anger but bone deep sorrow, red rimmed eyes coming up to Dean's, pleading with his brother to stop the charade, to trust him enough to let him see his pain. Needing his brother's walls down so he could have free reign to do whatever he could to ease the pain his brother was in.

But Dean's face filled with shame and he quickly looked away, felt that Sam was seeing through his shields, how much it hurt, what their father had done, was planning on doing. Teaching him another lesson, proving just what a screw up he was, that, no matter how successful he was, he couldn't match his father's expectations, would never be the detective his father was.

Picking up his shotgun, Dean continued his cleaning ritual. It was easier to focus on that task than meet Sam's eyes. "Doesn't change the fact that the agency's over and done." But then he raised his eyes, let his bitter victory resonate in his next words. "I never told Dad that his detective license will be null and void when the agency goes dark. Not that he gave a crap about doing things the legal way, anyway." It was a small strike back, he knew that, but at least it was something, that he had managed to dispense some small measure of retaliation.

Sam snorted in surprised approval at his brother's underhandedness. "Love to see his face when he gets carted off to jail for fraud," even as he knew it would never happen, that their father was too wily, that justice was too ineffectually. But it earned him a gentle smirk from Dean. They both knew that it was a vengeful daydream.

"So screw him. Resign from the agency and sign up for another license, set up your own agency. You know you've practically been running our agency since you turned sixteen so you have the experience," Sam encouraged, prayed that Dean would take the life line, bail on the sinking ship that their family business was.

Dean's bittersweet smile said it all. "Can't. My license is under review. The agency goes under, so does my license, doesn't matter if I resign. Less I wanna change my name….."

'_No, disowning our family, that's my style, not yours_,' Sam morosely recognized, knew that Dean would never cease to cling to their family ties, that even after all that their father had done, that he had done to hurt him, Dean valued family, valued the Winchester name more than anything else. "Well, then, if Dad won't come to us, then we go to him," he stated matter-of-factly, like it was just that simple, that the idea of seeing his father again didn't turn his stomach inside out. Especially with his new clarity of how heartless the man was.

Dean knew what Sam's suggestion would cost his brother, that Sam agreeing to see their dad, it was a monumental offer. But one that his brother would do for him, probably only for him. Sometimes he just couldn't help but love the jerk. "Sam, thanks. Really. That means a lot to me…"

"But?" Sam prodded, knew an objection was heading his way.

Putting the shotgun on the table Dean faced Sam. "I don't know where he's at, Sam. That message was the first communication I've had from him in a few months."

'_Months?_' echoed in Sam's head. Cas had said that their dad hadn't been around much, liked to work his own cases, but John being incognito for months? Not calling Dean, not checking in to see if his son….Sam's stopped mid-accusation. '_And how long had it been since you called Dean, checked in to make sure he was alright, bothered to return his phone call…from three years ago_.' His own guilt smothered his rage at his father's inconsideration. Knew that he was as guilty as his father for cutting Dean off, but a hundred times more so. Vowing to do better, to make it up to Dean, Sam announced, "Finding people is kinda our job, Dean?" tried for humor, though he felt nothing like laughing.

"And we're _on_ a job, Sam," Dean firmly reminded. "To take down Harry Mason's murderer, to stop a military grade weapon from getting into some nutjob's hands."

Sam fought to not sigh in frustration at his brother's steadfast loyalty to do the right thing, even if it meant screwing himself in the process. "So we call Gabriel up, tell him that we're holding off a few days to set up the meet." Before his brother's disputing expression turned into a verbal comeback, Sam gently rationalized, "Dean, we only have until Monday to track Dad down. Once the license thing is squared away we'll take down Ersman. You, me and Cas," wanted Dean to know he was in this to the end and that, even if ..no, when they tracked down their father, John wouldn't be part of it. That this case, it was theirs.

But Dean was shaking his head. "Sam, we rattled Wesfield's cage this morning, even dialed the phone for him to contact Ersman. The good colonel, he's gotta be in flight or fight mode. We wait, even a day, and he's going to sell the weapon and dump any evidence tied to him, Mason and Wesfield in the Missouri. No, we do this now, tonight, or we won't be able to do it at all."

"Then we don't do it," Sam thickly returned, saw the surprise and disappointment in his brother's eyes. And didn't care. Not when it was stacked up against Dean's future, Dean's happiness. But he couldn't bear the judgement Dean was leveling at him. "Call the police if you want to, or Cas' grandfather or his ex-FBI buddies. Let them worry about Ersman and his unit," hoped Dean would take up his afterthought recommendations.

"This is my case," Dean snapped, eyes locked with Sam's, "and I'm not walking away."

Sam backpedaled, "I'm not saying quit on it." '_Because clearly you won't_.' "I'm saying…wait. That's all."

Dean's eyes only hardened. "I know that it's been awhile since you've done this job, Sam, but this isn't a friggin' exam you can postpone for another day. Someone's son was killed, a weapon that could kill hundreds of people is on the market! This isn't something we can put off for another day, until it suits our schedule," censure in his tone, as if Sam didn't understand what was at stake.

However, ignorance wasn't Sam's problem. He knew what was at stake. More clearly than Dean did. And, God forgive him, but the only thing that truly mattered to him was his brother, was his brother's fate. Yes, Mason had lost his son, but he wasn't going to lose his brother, not to some military unit and not to hopelessness.

"In two days you won't **be** a detective," Sam bluntly pointed out. "How many people will die because you're not there to save them, huh, Dean? This goes way beyond collecting a paycheck. This is who you are, what you do. It's who you were meant to be and if you don't do it….then who will, Dean? Who else would have put themselves in the crosshairs to try and determine if Mason's death was murder or suicide? Would Dad? 'Cause I already know that answer."

Clenching his jaw, Dean tried to let Sam's words wash over him, to not react to the ache that his brother's opening line had carved into him. To not feel the loss already of what he was, had always thought he would always be. Reaching across to his coat that was hanging on the back of the open chair, he pulled something out of its inside pocket. Tossing the plane ticket on the table in front of Sam, he announced, "Guess I'll have to decide to be something else. Maybe you can recommend some college classes I should take," he joked, needed to when Sam's eyes dropped to the plane ticket and then came up again, misery and hurt in their depths.

Sam couldn't talk, not around the lump in his throat, not when his first words, his next breath might break through the weak gate holding back his emotions. Dean wanted him to leave. To go. To not take part in the meeting tonight or in finding their father or in his life. He shook his head, in denial, in disbelief, even as he swallowed down the sorrow that was choking him. "No," he croaked out.

"You're a liability to me, Sam," Dean claimed, didn't know how he managed to even get the words out, the lie, when everything seemed to be closing in on him. "Ersman, his unit, they will use you to get to me if they can. You're my weakness, you are, Sammy," and there was as much hurt as affection in the declaration.

"I won't be," Sam vowed, but his voice quaked, shouted his uncertainty to the four winds.

"You are. You always were, Sammy," Dean confessed, love and pain and regret and fond memories reflected behind his eyes. '_And you always will be_.' And that was why Dean had to break the ties this time, had to free Sam before they both sank below the surface.

Dazed, Sam watched Dean stand up and walk away, walk away from _him_. But his brother's words stayed behind, mocked him, taunted him. '_You're a liability to me. You're my weakness, you are, Sammy._' He didn't know how it was possible, that Dean could hurt him so badly …and tell him how much he loved him all in the same breath.

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Punching the back porch's wooden support beam, Dean relished the pain, knew that it was the least he deserved after saying what he had to Sam. Resting his head against the beam, he closed his eyes, willed his breathing to even out, for his heart to stop aching. Needed his resolve to kick into high gear, to finish what he had started.

If there was one good thing his father had taught him, it was that a Winchester didn't walk away when things got tough, that they finished what they started. Even if it ended up costing them everything they had.

It seemed perfect timing for his phone to ring.

"Yeah," he greeted and stood up straight as Gabriel announced, "Your play date's all set up for an hour from now. And I tagged the short guy. You sure you don't want someone to go along and hold your hand?"

"No. I got this. And Gabriel…" It took awhile until Dean could finally manage to form the next word, "…thanks."

"Don't thank me and give me credit both. But I will remember the small people when I get my promotion. How's a NCIS ball cap sound?"

"About as lame as you are," Dean shot back before ending the call.

Then, with one forlorn look behind him to the house where his baby brother was, Dean stepped off the porch, skirted around the backyard and made his way to the waiting Impala. This job, it was his and his alone to finish. And because, like Sam had said, the job wasn't what he did, it was who he was. He didn't know how to be anything else, his father had seen to that.

'_Well, except for being a big brother_,' Dean contradicted, couldn't help but send out a bittersweet smile to his little brother. Sam hadn't taught him to be a big brother, Sam had let him be that. And if this was the last time he played that role, at least he wasn't screwing it up, was doing what he had always done: was keeping Sam safe.

'_And Cas too_,' he tagged on, could just imagine how angry Cas was going to be when he found out he had been left behind. But Dean didn't like to be stereo typed, didn't think that certain rules applied to him: that just because Cas was older than he was, that he couldn't watch out for him like he did Sam. Heck, he had been patching up and taking care of his father since he was four years old.

"Yeah, and Dad's been sssoooo grateful," Dean drawled, hoped that Sam and Cas were a little more appreciative of his efforts. "Yeah, right. What have you been smoking?" he goaded, knew that, if he survived that night, his brother and friend, when they caught up with him, just might end him.

'_Well, it's something to look forward to._' Then he started the car, slipped it into reverse and put his plan in motion.

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He had them dead to rights, the soldiers knew that as certainly as Dean did. And then, with the sound of one voice, the odds changed. A voice Dean had heard before: joking with him in the hospital.

"Did you actually think you could come between me and my men?" the black man incredulously asked as he stepped from the shadows, gave Dean the same easy, friendly smile he had back in the hallway of the hospital.

Tightening his hold on the soldier he had pinned against him, Dean quickly pressed his gun into the man's neck. "I thought it was worth a try," he calmly replied with a shrug, pulling the man who was his shield and bargaining chip to the right, moving them closer to the wooden crates in the warehouse.

"And I admire that. Kinda hoped you would have walked away. I let you go in the hospital, you know that now, right?" Ersman conversationally pointed out.

"Yeah. Did you want to get to know me before you killed me? They probably have websites for those types of fetishes," Dean smart mouthed back. And though he was inches closer to the cover of the crate and farther away from Ersman and his two soldiers, one of which was still unconscious on the ground where Dean had put him, it seemed like the chasm was the size of the Grand Canyon.

Ersman laughed, like he had in the hospital, and pointed to Dean. "See, that right there is why I didn't kill you. Even now, backed into a corner, you're keeping your cool. I did go to the hospital to finish off the job Wesfield screwed up, but I found out that you and I, we aren't that different. That we don't crumble when the crap hits the fan."

"Wow. Just when I thought I couldn't friend anyone else, you show up. Gosh, now I understand why you put the smackdown on my agency license. You didn't want to share me? Thought I would see how wrong I was and join your stellar team," Dean oozed false enthusiasm, finger tightening on the trigger when Ersman's other hale underling didn't seem to appreciate his humor.

But Ersman held up his hand, commanded his man to halt his roll. "We do have money coming our way. Lots of it. And I'm a much better commanding officer than your old man."

"I got father issues, I'm not gonna lie," Dean candidly admitted. "And I could use some extra cash to remodel the old agency building since you're BFF Wesfield set some punks after me. But I gotta say, wearing the uniform, it's a deal breaker for me," nodding his chin to the military garb the other men wore.

Ersman's easygoing facade didn't fade. "So you're turning me down? Can't say I didn't see that coming. Well, then we have ourselves a real Mexican standoff here, don't we?" and for the first time, he pulled his gun, aimed it unerringly at Dean's forehead. The soldier at the colonel's side was only too happy to follow his commander's example.

Begrudging the diminutive height of the soldier he had latched onto to use as a shield, Dean sighed before he challenged, "A Mexican standoff implies that I don't have an advantage."

"My men and I are expert shots, Dean," Ersman not so much bragged as stated, beginning to close in the space that stood between him and his prey. "Can I call you Dean? Your ex-FBI partner, your estranged brother from California, your MIA dad, I know about all of it. I really feel like I know you."

"Well, then you should know that I don't take failure well," Dean snarled, jamming the barrel of the gun more brutally into his hostage's neck as he yanked the man back another two steps.

As if reading something in Dean's eyes, Ersman halted his approach, reevaluated his opponent.

"And I don't always play by the rules," Dean cryptically said, right before the warehouse was plunged into darkness.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	14. Chapter 14: Best Laid Plans

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 14: Best Laid Plans

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"And I don't always play by the rules," Dean cryptically said, right before the warehouse was plunged into darkness.

Cold cocking his hostage, Dean took two steps to the right in the pitch blackness, than another until his hand came into contact with the wooden crate. Doing his best Stevie Wonder impersonation, he trailed his hand along the wood as a guide and moved hurriedly down the length of the crate, away from Ersman's position.

And it was always astonishing, how black darkness could be deprived of even moonlight. That without the anchor of the crate under his hands, he would have felt utterly adrift. But just when he was relishing that contact, it came to an end. Or rather a corner.

Silently cursing, Dean stood there at the crossroads between heading right with the contours of the crate and stepping forward into the unknown. Never one to cower at the unfamiliar, he took a blind step forward, right into hands that latched onto his shoulders.

Immediately he drew back his fist only for it to be captured in a waiting hand.

"It's me," Cas' familiar and wholly welcome voice whispered, and then the hands that gripped him tight were leading him forward. And he went willingly, trustingly.

"Now aren't you glad you didn't leave me behind?" his friend cockily baited as he manhandled Dean back a step until his back came to rest against the safety of another crate. Then something was shoved into Dean's hands: night vision goggles.

And dang Cas, but Dean was glad his friend had come. Though, an hour ago, Dean had been far from accepting of that outcome.

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Ending his call with Uriel, Cas was surprised at how far his walk had taken him, was just turning around to head back to the model home when his phone trilled. His nerves tightened at the caller ID: Gabriel.

"Guess Dean was right and you could do slimy arms dealer," Cas opened with, tried to conceal his trepidation from his cousin.

"I'm a masterful manipulator," Gabriel bragged. "Ssssooo, Dean didn't want me to make this call to you but family's got to count for something, right?"

Halting mid-step, Cas' hand tightened around his cell phone and his tone, when he spoke, was a barely restrained menacing growl, "What do you mean Dean didn't want you to call me?"

"Oh, he wanted to do the whole Lone Ranger thing. _Save you from following in his doomed footsteps,_" Gabriel explained, using his best overdramatic bad actor voice. Then his tone dropped back into its normal, satiric measure. "So I called him, told him the meet was on in an hour, just like he asked. And now, I'm calling you. If Dean asks, I waited 56 seconds before calling you and this conversation we are having, it's just cousin talk."

"I owe you another one, Gabriel," Cas appreciatively tallied before he hung up, started to run back the way he had come, heaping curses on Dean's head with each pounding step. And then, as the sidewalk branched to the right, he ran straight ahead, into the middle of the street and determinedly right into the path of a familiar black 1967 Chevy Impala.

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Dean stood on the Impala's breaks, wasn't sure if he should close his eyes or keep them open so he could get his last look at his best friend before he ran him over like roadkill. By some miracle, the car managed to slide to a stop, its grill inches from Cas.

Throwing the car into park with a hand that shook, Dean jumped out the door and immediately started shouting. "What was that? You trying to get yourself killed?" he thundered as he stalked toward Cas, uncertain if he was about to punch or hug his friend.

"No, you are!" Cas fired back, meeting Dean half way and shamelessly getting into his friend's personal space. "I didn't give up my FBI career to save your life so you could turn martyr three years down the road!" His hands coming up to fist in Dean's jacket, he gave his friend a bruising shake. "So you could ditch me when things get out of your control."

Dean's fury melted under Cas' righteous indignation. "I know all that you gave up for me, Cas," he sorrowfully acknowledged, eyes unflinching meeting the anger, the disappointment in his friend's eyes. "Not just your career…but being on good terms with your family. I don't want you to give up your life. We're good."

"_We're good_?" Cas mockingly repeated. "You think this is some debt that I've been paying, that you've been paying?" Roughly releasing Dean, he paced a moment in the middle of the deserted street before he faced Dean with an almost pitying look on his face. "It's called being friends, Dean! It's called me having your back, even when things are out of control, _especially when things are out of control_. And for the record, I don't regret leaving the FBI, I sure don't regret saving your life, but I'm gonna be bitter if all I get out of the deal is a couple of years of us being…well, us, a team…brothers."

Dean shuffled on his feet, uncomfortable with Cas' frankness, with someone wanting to stay _with him_ instead of running away as fast as they could. "I can't save the agency. We both know that," he regretfully admitted.

"And you think that's what's keeping me with you, this _job_?" Cas carefully asked in exasperation, saw by Dean's vulnerable shrug that was exactly what Dean thought. Closing the distance that he had put between himself and Dean, he reached out, cupped his hand around Dean's neck and earnestly met his friend's exposed gaze. "I'm here with you because there is no one I respect more, because if my life's in the balance, there's no one that I rather have my back than you. And I joined your agency, stayed at your side through every case that came down the pike because I believe in you and what you do, why you do it. And I still do. Some lousy piece of paper, it can't make or unmake the man. Not any more than a badge does."

And it meant a lot, the _world_ to Dean, that Cas was comparing his forfeited FBI badge to his soon-to-be revoked detective license. That Cas was putting them on even ground. Again. Like he had from the start, had forgiven Dean's lack of college education, FBI training, and accepted Dean and his talents at face value.

An out of breath voice spoke in the void, "Dean, what the heck!"

Cas and Dean both turned to see Sam leaning against the Impala, his labored breathing indicating that he had run after the car the moment it had pulled out of the driveway, that his brother thought to leave him behind, to safeguard him wholly against his wishes.

Catching Dean's chagrined expression, Cas replied to Sam before Dean could. "I know you and I would really like to take turns knocking some sense into your dumbbehind brother but Gabriel tells me we're on a time limit."

"The meet's set?" Sam demanded, more accusation than question.

"Yeah. We have an hour," Cas supplied, looking to his friend and boss, knew that the next move, it was Dean's.

With his speculations confirmed, Sam's eyes blazed brightly as they lambasted Dean. "And you were really going to go without me?"

"And me," Cas interjected, wanted Sam to know Dean's actions weren't about lack of trust, were about self-sacrifice…and stupidity.

Sam's anger softened a few hues to affectionate condemnation. "Dean…."

"You're not coming, Sam," Dean harshly denied. He wasn't backing down. Not about this. Because part of him knew that he might be walking into an ambush and he deemed it an acceptable risk. **For him**. Not for his little brother. But suddenly, Sam blocked his path, used his taller stature to nearly loom over him.

"You can't have it both ways, Dean," Sam uncompromisingly stated. Putting his arms out to stop Dean's notion to go around him, he stepped closer to his brother, needed to make sure Dean was listening to him. Really listening this time. "You can't be angry that I left and then push me away when I come back."

Dean stopped, became a deadly statue with glittering eyes, decided that if this where he and Sam had it out, where he took his last stand, then so be it. "Wow. What a shocker that you want to dictate how I feel. That you want to tell me how I'm _allowed_ to feel."

Sam returned Dean's anger with his own. "No, I don't!"

Dean snorted maliciously. "Right. I can react any way I want…as long as I don't contradict Dad's orders and I always side with you."

It was Sam's turn to snort. "Yeah, like you sided with me? You always took Dad's …"  
>"I compromised, Sam!" Dean shouted, coming toe to toe with Sam. "I gave in so Dad wouldn't be so pissed that he'ld…." But Dean got ahold of himself before he said something he couldn't take back. The next moment he was leveling his you-will-never-understand patronizing smile at Sam. "You know what, forget it. Just use the friggin' ticket, Sam," and his shoulder knocked into Sam's as he brushed by his brother, wasn't prepared for the Impala door to be slammed shut before he could slip inside.<p>

Having angrily clearing away the only obstacle that stood between he and his brother, Sam positioned himself in front of the Impala's door, cut off his brother's escape, knew by the unholy fire in Dean's eyes that, regardless if he had intended to, he had laid down a gauntlet. It caused his anger to dissipate into a spike of fear. If he said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing, there might be no hope for a do-over. And Dean had already given him more clemency than their father ever had. Or ever would.

Baring his soul, Sam earnestly implored, "I wanna stay, Dean. Let me stay." Because that was the only thing he cared about. The past was over, the future was a jumble of confusing wants and needs but right now, tonight, he knew right where he wanted to be.

Dean wasn't prepared for Sam's declaration, for his brother's entreaty. _Sam wanted to stay_. Even if it were for one more day, it was monumental.

Knowing that he needed Dean to understand why he needed to stay, Sam expounded, "I know you want to protect me but that goes both ways, Dean." Gathering courage at the obvious softening in Dean's resolve, he unyieldingly declared, "And that's why I'm not letting you go to this meet without me." Then, slipping by Dean, he yanked open the car's back door and settled into the backseat of the Impala with an expression that said even the jaws of life weren't making him get out.

When the Impala's door squeaked open, Dean spun around to find Sam in his car. And he totally recognized his brother's indomitable expression, the one that said Sammy was going to get his way or there would be no peace. For anyone.

Knowing that Dean's battle was lost even if Dean didn't, Cas crossed over to the passenger side of the Impala, called across the car's roof, "I think we have an appointment to keep." Couldn't help but return Dean's heated glare with a better-luck-next-time smirk before he followed Dean's example and got into the car.

Then, joined by his two stubborn hitchhikers, Dean resumed his trek. But more had changed than the number in his party. His whole mind set was instantly overhauled because, any measure of failure, of defeat on his part, it was now unacceptable. Not when his life was the least precious thing at stake.

"What if Ersman does what we did?" Sam asked out of the blue from the back seat.

"And that is?" Dean countered, wasn't following his brother's logic.

But Cas was, turned around to face Sam. "Catches on to his men sneaking around behind his back, decides to follow them…or join them on the meet."

Sam and Cas' eyes both landed on Dean, to the man supposedly with the plan.

But Dean's reaction was a bemused "Huh," because that possibility? He didn't have a countermeasure for.

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A possibility that had, indeed, become reality.

'_Sam is so going to gloat that he was right_,' Dean thought as he slipped on the night goggles that turned the pitch dark into green vision. "Here," he lowly said to Cas, passing something from his pocket into his friend's hand. "Get that to Sam. He'll be able to figure it out."

"It can wait," Cas countered back, his words barely loud enough to carry the distance to his companion. He wasn't surprised with Dean's comeback.

"No. I want things taken care of now. Go," Dean's quiet but no-nonsense authoritative tone making it clear that they had slipped into their boss and subordinate roles.

And Cas couldn't disobey the order, respected his friend, his boss too much. That didn't mean he had to be happy about leaving Dean on his own, even if it would probably only be for a few minutes. "Don't overestimate your advantage. These men are…"

"…highly trained soldiers. Can adapt to adverse conditions, can see in the friggin' dark, right?" Dean hissed back, knew that, in Cas' opinion, soldiers walked on water.

Though Cas' features were hued in green, the man's smirk was clear. "I was going to say that they are probably going to use their cell phones and lighters to see."

"Oh," Dean replied with a tad bit of embarrassment. "Right." And then Cas slipped away, was on his way to meet Sam somewhere along the outside perimeter of the warehouse. Just like they had planned.

Not one to lay low, Dean tightened his grip on his gun and started walking back the way he had come, to confront his enemies. Ersman's voice echoing off the crates turned his steps hesitant.

"I have to say, I'm impressed," real admiration edging the man's tone.

Ears straining, Dean tried to pinpoint the direction Ersman's voice was coming from. Knew he had to keep the conversation going to track the man's location. "And I want to know why. Why do this?"

"So you can get a confession out of me?" Ersman's scoffed, the tone coming off sinister in the darkness.

Maneuvering to another crate on the west section, Dean headed toward the voice he heard. "You said we're alike. I don't see it. I would never sell out my country."

The reply was closer, intimate. "Like you'ld never hate your father more than you love him?" let that sink in for a few heartbeats before he spoke again. "For the man that caused the end of my career, of everything I was proud of…there isn't enough loyalty …or _stupidity_ in me to forgive that," he jeeringly associated Dean's situation with his own, mocked the weakness he perceived in Dean.

But two could play psychiatrist. "Just like the Navy, huh?" Dean volleyed back, slipping across an aisle and pressing his back against another crate. "You got wounded in the line of duty, protecting this country, upholding the Navy oaths…and now they've made you into some security guy only a notch above the gate keeper at Fort Leavenworth."

"See I knew that you'ld understand," Ersman amiably replied, as if he and Dean were buddies, that Dean would fall for his false camaraderie.

"So it's not about money, selling the weapon. It's about payback?" Dean let disdain taint his words, felt sick that the man thought they saw things in the same way.

"Oh no. It's about money…and payback," Ersman cockily corrected.

"After you got that bum knee, the Navy could have forced you out, into early retirement…" Dean disparagingly reminded the soldier.

"This is probably worse," Ersman bitterly shot back, as he moved toward his target. "The way they order me around like I'm their dog. Men who never took a life for God and Country. Sure never almost lost their own life doing their duties, watched their friends die or become so broken that there's no hope they will ever be the same men I fought beside."

"So you're donating your share of the weapon sale to Disabled Vets?" Dean sardonically proposed, taking a jab at the load of crap Ersman was trying to sell him.

Instead of taking umbrage to Dean's caustic question, Ersman laughed. "Not likely."

Ducking around another corner, Dean crept forward, knew he was closing in the space that separate he and Ersman. "Well, that's actually good. I'ld hate to be the one to tell them you can't come through with the money you promised them. Not now that you've lost the weapon."

"I haven't lost a thing. Weapon's still somewhere you can't find it and I got a bonus…you delivered to me on a silver platter. You and your brother and friend, if I'm not mistaken. Seems it's my lucky day."

"Nah, not really. See the buyer your men met with earlier today, he activated your short friend's phone's GPS. I figure NCIS should be about at your weapon cache," Dean boasted even as he knew he was exaggerated the timing just a bit.

"Nice bluff but our GPS encryption is military grade. You can't hack into it."

"Oh, I don't need to hack into it. Not when I have the phone," Dean coolly revealed his winning card. Ersman's silence Dean told him that his opponent recognized that his bluff was no bluff. That him grabbing that particular team member as a hostage, it hadn't been random. "Seems like your faithful followers were going to double cross you. They jumped at the chance to cut you out of the deal once we planted the seeds of doubt in their brainwashed little brains. So they went scampering off to get the weapon…and the GPS tracked them the whole way. Is that where you caught up with them, their hands in the cookie jar?"

"Turning my men against me. I gotta give you kudos on that," Ersman praised, grudgingly had to give respect to his enemy.

"I have my moments." And Dean hoped he was about to have another as he dropped into a crouch beside a crate. He could hear footsteps drawing closer.

"So if NCIS is going after the weapon right now, they wouldn't be coming to your rescue," Ersman taunted, his malice palpable. As if to punctuate his words, the warehouse lights flickered back to life.

Hastily removing his night vision goggles, Dean obstinately swore to keep to his plan. Told himself that it didn't matter if his advantage was gone because he was putting an end to things, today.

"Who says I need rescuing?" Dean growled, surging from his location to level his gun at Ersman's head.

"I do," Ersman growled as he tightened his chokehold on his hostage and pressed his gun deeper in the tall brunette's cheek.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam repentantly rasped, his eyes drowning in guilt and shame as they met his big brother's. Because, like it or not, Dean had been right: He was a liability to his brother. A liability that might have just sealed both of their fates.

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TBC

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Yup, I had the audacity to do another cliffie! I just had to now that we're heading into the home stretch with our plot.

Thank you so much for continuing to spend time with this story and for every single encouraging word sent my way. Your kindness is so appreciated!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	15. Chapter 15: Tag Team Tactics

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 15: Tag Team Tactics

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"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam repentantly rasped, his eyes drowning in guilt and shame as they met his big brother's. Because, like it or not, Dean had been right: He was a liability to his brother. A liability that might have just sealed both of their fates.

Offering a closed mouth smile to Sam, Dean compassionately pardoned, "Don't worry about it, Sammy," because the very last thing he felt toward his brother was anger, let his eyes reassure Sam that things would be OK. He would make them OK.

Cutting his focus to Ersman, the softness in Dean's eyes bled away, was replaced with malice. "You let him go and we can negotiate some kind of deal," he bargained but his underlying threat was blatant, was enforced by the fact that his gun unerringly remained aimed right for the colonel's forehead.

Tossing his head back, Ersman laughed, like it was a joke told over some cold beers. "Really?" he chuckled in mocking disdain. "I'm just going to surrender, give up, _give away my hostage_," he dug the gun barrel more painfully into Sam's cheek to prove how ludicrous he thought the idea was. "Nah un. Person disarming right now is going to be you."

Eyes sliding from Ersman to Sam, Dean read the '_No, Dean, don't do it_!' in his brother's eyes but this wasn't about some random person Ersman had grabbed, this was his baby brother, the one he was supposed to protect, the one that he would rather die himself than have any harm come to. So, the decision between obeying Ersman or Sam, it was made the first second Ersman threatened his brother.

Raising his gun hand in a show of surrender, Dean was about to drop the weapon on the ground when Ersman gave other instructions.

"Take the barrel off and toss it behind you." Seeing the slight protest in Dean's eyes, Ersman yanked Sam back harder against him, pressed the gun into the man's cheek until it was in jeopardy of damaging teeth.

In response, Sam gave a pained inhale of breath.

His brother's small sound of hurt twisted Dean's gut, had him readily dismantling his favorite gun, giving the engraved silver barrel a powerful fling to land somewhere behind him, a blind fling because his eyes were locked on his brother and adversary. Dropping the now useless gun, Dean said, "So now that you have me at your mercy…"

But Ersman smiled, and it was half appreciation and half worn patience. "_Mercy_ implies that you have no way of defending yourself. Did you think I forgot that you confiscated Trevor's weapon?"

"Trevor, he the short guy I was using as a shield earlier?" Dean joked back, all the while cursing Ersman for knowing about his ace in the hole.

"What he lacks in height he makes up for in skill," Ersman defended his downed man before jerking his chin toward Dean. "So pull his gun out, slow."

Face contorted into displeasure, Dean pulled the gun from the back of his waist and disassembled it like he had his own, tossing the barrel behind him and dropping the inoperable gun at his feet. "Fine. Now ya got me right where you want me. Guess we all have our weaknesses and you found mine," he conceded but his focus, it wasn't on Ersman, it was on Sam.

Torn up from the inside out by Dean's words, by the harsh truth of them, Sam almost missed it. Almost let his guilt blind him, almost recognized, too late, that the words weren't _about_ him, they were _for him_. That his brother's declaration, it wasn't a condemnation, **it was a signal**.

Sharpening his gaze on his brother, Sam waited and then he saw it, that Dean's eyes, for the barest second, dropped to Ersman's knee: the soldier's left knee, the one that Ersman had wounded in Iraq, badly enough to permanently bench him from action.

All of a sudden, Sam had to fight the urge to smile, to beam at his friggin' brilliant, devious, awesome big brother.

Ersman didn't know it yet but he was right where they wanted him to be.

When Dean brazenly stepped toward Ersman, the soldier traded the aim of his gun sights from Sam's cheek to Dean's head. "Well, unlike you, whatever weaknesses I have, they aren't about to put me in the grave," the colonel boastingly condemned, hoping to inspire a flash of fear in his opponent. A flash that didn't come.

"You sure about that?" Dean cockily posed, enjoyed the confusion and dawning trepidation in Ersman's eyes. Then he winked at Sam, gave his brother the green light to do his worst.

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In hind sight, Cas would have never delivered the right cross to his opponent, not if he would have been able to predict where it would land the soldier: namely right where the man had wanted to go in the first place, to the wall of light switches for the warehouse. As Ersman's soldier readily took the opportunity to even the odds and drown the building into light, Cas wondered if this was the world telling him that violence wasn't the way to go. First, he had practically sent the other soldier tumbling into the bomb trigger in Dean's house and now this.

Cas could almost _hear_ the snarky comment Dean would make if he was there to witness his blunder. '_Dude, who's side are you on anyway_?' Wondered how Dean would react if he ever got a chance to tell him the blunt answer he would always give to that same question: '_Yours. Always yours_.'

Stowing that Dr. Phil moment away for another time, Cas hurriedly removed his night goggles but it still took his vision a moment to adjust. And then he saw stars…that lightshow brought on by a fist plowing into his already bruised cheek, ringing his bell but good. He stumbled backwards as the soldier's second punch landed. But in truth, he was more than happy to allow the distance between them, knew that he needed to get his head in the game. _In this fight_.

He had to stop heaping curses on Sam's head for running off into the warehouse to seek out Dean the second the younger Winchester had passed the GPS info onto Gabriel. Had to stop hating himself for being so intent on playing bodyguard to Dean's brother that he had ended up getting blindsided by Ersman's soldier and losing his weapon in that first scuffle. Had to short circuit the thoughts running through his brain, had to tramp down his worry for Dean and for Sam, had to start worrying about his own hide. Because his opponent, he was no slouch. Fact was, he had lost to him once before…at Dean's house. Course the guy had had a golf club in his arsenal during their last match up.

Wiping the blood from his cut lip, Cas took a step back as the soldier started to advance. "So your nose, it's broken, huh?" he goaded, relishing the noticeable battle wound that he had inflicted in their previous encounter.

"Just like your ribs," the soldier parried back even as he attempted to land a left hook to that vulnerable area on his opponent.

But Cas dodged left, used the man's proximity to plummet the man's forehead with his killer left hook. When the soldier's stance weakened, Cas pressed his advantage by catching the man's chin with an uppercut. The soldier slammed back into the nearest wooden crate but Cas couldn't pursue him, not when he was doubled over, holding his fiercely aching ribs.

That last move, it had hurt him more than it had hurt his adversary. And that was never good.

It was confirmed by the gleam in the soldier's eyes as he pushed himself off the crate and stalked toward his prey.

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Catching Dean's signal, Sam reacted, brought his boot clad foot back into Ersman's left damaged knee with all the strength he had. He heard the man's cry of agony right by his ear even as he felt the man's grip on him weaken. But before he could turn around, follow up on his attack, Dean body slammed into Ersman.

Sam stumbled back a step, was nearly taken down to the ground along with the twosome. Instead, he was left standing there, helplessly watching his brother and the colonel wrestle on the floor for control of Ersman's gun.

He jumped when the first gunshot erupted.

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Watching his antagonist's approach, Cas joked, "You give up now and I'll go easy on you."

The soldier gave him a bloody toothed smile.

"So that's a no," Cas muttered as he pushed himself to his full height and raised his fists like he was in a boxing match. "Ok, but you don't have a golf club to cheat with this time."

"Oh, no cheating. I want to enjoy myself, make hammering on you last a good long while," the soldier taunted, starting to close in the distance between himself and Cas.

"Actually, I was hoping you'd say that," Cas drawled, malevolence beginning to spark in his eyes because this guy, he owed a beat down to. Slipping left to miss the man's right cross, he unleashed a left jab that landed on the soldier's broken nose. His opponent's howl of pain made Cas smile even as he slammed his elbow into the man's cheek.

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Terrified that Dean had been shot, Sam almost jumped into the fray, was about to intrude on the two-man wrestling match. But then another shot rang out from Ersman's gun, and he heard the bullet ping off a wall down the aisle. So when the twosome rolled his way with Dean landing on top, he scampered back, ducked when the gun that Ersman still had in hand and Dean was trying to pry loose pointed his way.

But Dean slammed Ersman's hand into the cement flooring, almost jarred the gun loose from the other man's grip. Almost. Might have with a few more tries if Ersman didn't change his tactics right at that moment.

Giving up his left handed purchase on Dean's shirt, Ersman dug his thumb into Winchester's left shoulder, right where he knew a bullet had pierced the man's flesh only a few days prior. The man's cry of agony and the suddenly weakened grip of the man's right hand around his gun smelled of victory. It was almost too easy then to pull his hand and respectively, his gun away from Winchester.

Dean snapped Ersman's head left with a blow to the colonel's cheek. Though not one to concede defeat, Dean grudgingly admitted, maybe too late, that in a close quarters battle with an opponent that knew his weaknesses, apparently all of them, he would lose, badly. So, while Ersman was stunned, he tried to disentangle himself from the soldier.

But Ersman was having none of that, used the space that Dean had put between them as a launching pad to counterattack, sending them tumbling to the left. The soldier came out on top of the roll. Pressing the heel of his palm cruelly into the man's wound, he pinned his opponent under him. Then, with a satisfied smile, he jammed the gun barrel into the detective's gut and began pulling the trigger.

When Dean cried out in agony, then and there Sam knew that his days of being a bystander were over. Yes, Dean could fight his own battles but there was no way Sam wasn't getting involved when the odds had changed, when Dean was in pain, when the very real possibility of losing his brother became a near reality.

Torturously waiting for his opening, for the soldier and his brother to stop moving long enough for him to make a plan and act on it, Sam nearly lost track of where Ersman's gun had ended up in the scuffle. Then, with sick realization, he knew exactly where it was: pointing at Dean's stomach.

Sam didn't think, he reacted, let his childhood training, his brotherly instincts take over. Plowing into Ersman, Sam coiled his hand around the gun, ensured that the soldier didn't have a chance to harm another hair on his brother's head. The combined momentum sent both combatants crashing over Dean to land in a pile of limbs and one solitary gun.

Head snapping right, Dean watched, heart in his throat, as his little brother engaged in a life or death struggle with a highly trained special ops soldier. Saw that Ersman and Sam were both vying for control of the gun…and his little brother was losing.

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Advancing on his weakened foe, Cas walked right into the soldier's kick to his chest. His breath knocked clear out of him at the blow and his consequent landing on the cement floor, Cas could only lay there, stunned, the approaching footsteps loud in the muffled hum his hearing was reduced too.

Then the soldier stood over Cas, had found the time to retrieve the detective's gun from where it had landed earlier. "And here I thought a former Fed would be a challenge," he sneered, cocking the gun.

But he never got the chance to pull the trigger.

Using skills that Dean Winchester, not the FBI, had taught him, Cas lashed out with his foot, caught his enemy solidly below the belt. He followed that underhanded move up with another. Whipping his cell phone at the soldier's head, he successfully gashed open a chunk of the man's high forehead.

Then, while his opponent reeled at the unexpected double dose of pain, Cas managed to push himself to his feet. Grabbing the man by the hair, he raised the soldier's bleeding head. "Feds are pansies. Winchesters aren't." And with that declaration, he sent the man into unconsciousness with a right cross.

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Diving right, Dean joined the fracas. Wrapping his hand around Sam's, he added his strength to his brother's. Until, like the well-oiled tag team they once were, their united determination scored a victory, redirected the gun's aim away from its previous target: Sam's head.

Though his strength was no match for the Winchesters', Ersman didn't relinquish his grip on the gun, not until his wrist was wretched back further than God intended it to ever go. He didn't cry out as his wrist broke, had no time to when the unmistakable cold presence of a knife blade came to press against his throat with pitiless intent.

Eyes shifting to his left, Ersman's eyes clashed with Dean Winchester's, knew that it was the elder Winchester's sure hands that wielded the weapon, saw by the opaqueness in the other man's eyes that taking a life, the idea of taking _his_ life wasn't something that bothered the detective. "You brought a knife to a gunfight," Ersman mocked, though he could feel the knife cutting into his neck even with the slight vibration his chatter generated in his vocal chords.

"All's fair in love and war, right?" Dean coldly returned, his full concentration on the other man, would not let the soldier turn the tables on him, not again.

Having been a solider long enough to know when a situation was untenable, Ersman released his death grip on the gun, knew that the younger Winchester instantly took possession of it. "So you want my name, rank and serial number?" he taunted, eyes unflinchingly meeting his enemy's, but though his words were ones of capture and acceptance, the look he lanced into Dean dared the man to do his worst.

"Oh, I want a little more than that. Like you begging for your life…like Harry Mason did," Dean hissed, drew a darker line of blood from the soldier's neck with the knife.

Ersman gave a dark chuckle. "You know Mason did," his own surprise at that revelation evident in his tone. "Promised to keep quiet, to let us take the weapon and never tell a soul that it wasn't a failure. But I know a ruse when I hear one. The guy was ex-military, so him sincerely begging for his life was about as likely as…well, me begging for mine," he sneered, meant the words now, for Dean. That if the detective was looking for that type of weakness from him, he was wasting his time. "And I was right because, Mason's last breath, it was a curse."

A voice coming from above drew Dean, Sam and Ersman's attention.

"And I know a confession when I hear one," Gabriel said, his gun almost lazily aimed at Ersman. Looking to Dean, the NCIS agent drawled, "I know you didn't want me here but I hated to miss out on the excitement."

"Ah, no, your presence is really welcome," Sam Winchester readily acknowledged. But then he caught the heated glare Dean was shooting to him over Ersman's prone figure, couldn't help but return it with a bug eyed, 'like you're not?' challenging look. '_Leave it to Dean to be __disappointed__ that the cavalry decided to show up.'_

Levering himself off Ersman's chest, Sam gained his feet, handed Ersman's gun to the unknown NCIS agent at Gabriel's side with a statement of "It's Ersman's." Then, noting that his brother wasn't following his example, in giving up his weapon or standing, he circled around the two men. "Come on," he bade as he bent down and latched onto Dean's arm. Was more than surprised when Dean actually allowed his help, was a tad worried when it took so much of his strength to get his brother on his feet and that Dean didn't even try to yank his arm free of his hold.

Then the second agent's outstretched hand turned in Dean's direction. Interpreting what the agent sought, Sam pried the knife from his brother's nerveless grip. But, instead of relinquishing the weapon into the second agent's waiting hand, he defiantly slid the knife into his own back pocket. "Knife is Dean's." Because he knew that there was no way Dean was going to stand for one of his favorite weapons getting confiscated.

When his agent pal started to protest, Gabriel shook his head, knew that some battles you couldn't win. And winning any battle with a Winchester seemed like a long shot. "Ok, Ersman, on your feet," he ordered his prisoner, waved his gun toward the ceiling to demonstrate the action. When Ersman made it to a stand, he threw cuffs at him. "I think you're familiar with how they work."

But Gabriel waited until the colonel had put his hands behind his back and was locked in the cuffs before he approached him. Grabbing the soldier by the elbow, he began steering him out of the warehouse. "Seems like you're going back to Fort Leavenworth…but this time to the other side of the prison bars. I hear colonels get mashed potatoes on the third Friday of every month."

Keeping his possessive hold on Dean, Sam watched the NCIS agent and colonel disappear around the nearest crate before he addressed his brother. "You OK?" he worriedly asked, prayed that, after everything they had just been through together, his brother would let down his guard and just be honest with him

"I'm fi…." Dean began to tout his trademark disclaimer but Cas came onto the scene and cut him off.  
>"Our fearless leader is always fine," the mockery clear in Cas' declaration as he pinned his friend with a reprimanding look. He wasn't blind to the near colorless hue of Dean's face or the way his boss was bracing his left arm against his chest, signifying that his bullet wound was giving him fits.<p>

"Yeah and you look like you went a few rounds with Holyfield and lost," Dean snarked back, jerking his chin toward his friend's features which were now redecorated in more shades of black and blue and blood.

"_Almost_ lost," Cas corrected as he came to a stop in front of Dean. "Then I discarded the Queensberry Rules for Winchester tactics and, hallelujah, bring on the championship belt," he boasted with an affectionate, thankful smile to his best friend.

Dean smirked. "See, now aren't you glad you got rid of that stick up your butt and finally came down to my level."

"You're a horrible influence on me," Cas said without an ounce of regret as he stepped to Dean's other side, looked across his friend to Sam. "So, could winning a court case really be more fun that this?" he lightly taunted.

"Not in a million years," Sam merrily agreed as he slipped a supportive arm around Dean's waist and began steering their threesome for the door. Sensing Dean's inspection of him, he turned to meet his brother's questioning gaze. "What?"

"You almost sound like you mean that," Dean quietly said, confusion instead of judgment in his tone.

Sam swallowed hard. He did mean it. Hadn't felt this …this _alive_ in four long, lonely, unhappy years. And, for the life of him, he didn't know what he was going to do about it.

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Sam looked over his shoulder when a hand came to rest on his back, stole his attention away from the NCIS agent that had finally, after the third telling, let him sign off on his statement. To his surprise, it wasn't Dean at his back but Cas. A Cas that had a decidedly single-minded set to his battered features.

"We need to talk," Cas gravely opened with, sending a wave of unease through Sam.

Unease that only settled when Sam's eyes landed on his maltreated but animated brother, a brother who was sitting on the end of the ambulance, knocking the medic's hand away from his aggravated bullet wound in his shoulder all the while fielding his own interrogation from NCIS. Reassured that, whatever news Cas was about to impart, it didn't have anything to do with Dean's wellbeing, he stepped away from the hubbub of NCIS, military police and ambulance crews and met Cas' look head on. But he still wasn't prepared for Cas' blunt non sequitur.

"I know where your father's at," Cas stated, knew that his distaste of John Winchester carried in his tone but he couldn't help that. Wasn't that good of an actor.

Stunned, Sam opened his mouth then closed it, a thousand questions hitting him at once. But only one really mattered, knew the answer by the lethalness in Cas' eyes but needed to hear the other man say the words. "He's not coming here, is he?" Not coming to save the agency, not showing up when Dean needs him, not taking time out of his obsession to save Dean, to keep Dean's career…Dean's _dream_ alive, to stir the last embers of Dean's love for his father before they scattered to the four winds.

It was harder to get the one word out than Cas would have guessed. "No," he hoarsely answered, saw the way the small glimmer of hope in the younger man's eyes died. Reminded him too much of the look Dean had started to wear every time one of his phone calls went to voice mail, when the cellphone caller ID refused to flash with a hoped for three letters: Dad…or Sam.

Ruthlessly putting the nails in John's coffin, Cas elaborated, "He's in Chicago. Has been for the past month."

But Sam's anger suddenly had a new focus. Towering over the shorter man he thundered, "You knew where he was and you didn't tell Dean!"

"No!" Cas immediately denied. "I just found out today…right before the meet tonight! I had some of my FBI contacts tracking your dad down. By their findings, he's been holed up in Chicago in the same motel all month."

"Still working his same old selfish obsession," Sam said sourly, knew that his father probably _thought_ he had a lead on Mary Winchester's murderer. Like he had a hundred times before over the course of twenty two years.

Trying to be considerate of Sam's turbulent emotions, Cas gentled his next words. "I had the attorney give me the license renewal document that your father has to sign. If I leave now, I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, Monday morning at the latest," he predicted, would do the distasteful task, now not just for Dean's benefit, but also so Sam wouldn't have to confront his father.

By the indomitable look in Dean's best friend's eyes, Sam knew that there was no way the man would come back without John Winchester's signature. Even if Cas had to get it at gunpoint. But it wasn't Cas' job to save Dean, not this time. '_No, it's mine_,' Sam vowed, needed to do this, for Dean…for himself. Aloud he announced, "I'll go."

For a moment, Cas almost protested the younger man's decision, would have if he hadn't caught the appeal in the eyes that held his. Sam _needed_ to be the one to right their father's wrongs against Dean. So he countered with, "We'll go." Because he wasn't going to let Sam go alone, any more than he would have let Dean go solo.

More grateful than he could express for Cas' insistence to join him, Sam meekly asked, "What are we going to tell Dean?" Because telling Dean the truth, he knew how that would end.

"Let me handle Dean," Cas brazenly said, earning Sam's 'Ah, cocky much?' expression. And sure, he _was_ cocky but he wasn't delusional. Him and Sam slipping away from Dean for hours, maybe a day, was like mission impossible….except he knew that Dean would be tied up with NCIS for the next few hours.

Giving Sam a smug wink and a pat on the chest, Cas headed to his best friend's side.

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Wincing as the medic re-bandaged his bullet wound, Dean sighed, rubbed his hand over his brow and spoke more slowly to the seemingly dim-witted NCIS agent. "Like I told you, Kenvert's head researcher, Peter Wesfield ratted out your Colonel Ersman as the man with the plan." Then his eyes abandoned the NCIS's consternation to land on Cas Angelo.

"Can I have a minute with him before you cart him to the Navy Yard for his statement?" Cas respectfully requested of the NCIS Agent.

Giving a nod of his head, the agent gave his consent and then walked away.

With one quelling look, Cas sent the medic scampering to the bowels of the ambulance. Then Cas claimed a seat beside Dean on the end of the ambulance, met his friend's gaze under the midnight sky highlighted by flashing red and blue lights. "You need to be more careful," he announced, nodding his chin toward his friend's unhealthy pallor and bloody shoulder.

"Right back at ya," Dean said, not missing the slow, careful way his friend was moving or the arm he was bracing against his cracked ribs.

It caused both men to break into smiles. It was always going to be a competition with them, who could come out of a situation looking more sorely used, needing the greater portion of pity…and earning the lion's share of the other's respect.

"Ya gotta admit, it was a heck of a case to go out on," Dean sighed, rested his head back against the ambulance door, noted his best friend's wince at his frankness.

"Yeah," was Cas' husky, tired reply and his eyes skittered away from Dean's. He would not give his friend hope, not until he had the signed renewal license in hand. Would not be another person who let Dean down when he counted on him the most. It was better to not make a promise than to break it.

"Your cousin's timing ain't all that bad," Dean admitted, his eyes alighting on Gabriel who was directing the action on the scene.

As if sensing the two men's inspection, Gabriel looked their way, smirked at Cas' appreciative nod of his head before he resumed his task delegation. "We Angelos are known for our miracles…" Cas bragged, didn't have to wait long for Dean's umbrage.

"Miracle? Please. I had Ersman taken care of before.."

"I wasn't talking about Gabrial, I talking about me," Cas explained with a ready smile. "How I came to your rescue in there, dispatched the other foe, directed Gabriel to your location in time to hear Ersman's confession."

"That was all you, huh?" Dean challenged with an unblinking stare almost smiled when the ex-fed backed down his brag.

"Well, mostly…" Cas hedged.

"Un huh," Dean murmured. "So where's Sam?" eyes scanning his surroundings for his brother and coming up with a goose egg.

Knowing that there would be no better opening, Cas hopped off the ambulance and stepped back from Dean, gave himself a few meters head start in case he had to make a run for it. Looking over his shoulder, he waved the NCIS agent back to Dean's side, waited until the agent was practically at his side before he ventured, "Sam? Yeah, well, I thought Sam and I would run an errand. You know, get to know each other better while you're tied up with NCIS."

But Dean's eyes narrowed. "Cas…" he drawled in warning, could tell when his friend was up to something.

Cas took a step back as Dean stood up. "We'll be back…tonight…or tomorrow morning. Soon."

"Cas, what are you up to?" Dean growled, advancing on Cas. But before he could reach out, snag Cas' arm, the NCIS agent was there in his face.

"Just bonding time with your little brother," Cas replied with an innocent shoulder shrug even as he retreated backwards. "Don't worry. I won't regale him with too many of your embarrassing exploits," striving to make light of what he was doing, to conceal how hard it was. Walking out on Dean. No matter that it was for Dean's own good. Then he turned his back on Dean, let himself focus on the task ahead, tried to shut out his best friend's call of his name. Unsuccessfully.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, beginning to sidestep the NCIS agent.

"Sir, you have to come with me to the Navy Yard to give your statement," the agent insisted, spun around to track his wayward charge as he pushed by him.

"Later!" Dean growled over his shoulder. There was no way he was going to let Cas drop some cryptic good bye on him and then ride off, with Sam.

But the agent's patience was gone. Latching onto Dean's arm, halting Winchester's forward motion, the agent stepped into the detective's path, dared to stand toe to toe with him. "**Now**, Mr. Winchester. Unless you don't care if Ersman and his team get off scott free."

Silently cursing at the agent's implication that he was the lynchpin to holding NCIS' case against Ersman together, Dean couldn't help but look over the agent's shoulder, watch as Cas walked through the throng of activity and then disappeared from sight. He knew that Cas was meeting up with Sam somewhere beyond his line of vision, knew just as surely that whatever the two of them had planned, he wouldn't agree with it.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and thanks to my wonderful reviewers of last chapter for not only your encouragement but for not lynching me for giving you another cliffee! But I played nice this chapter…no cliff- hanger.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	16. Chapter 16:Trust,Devotion&Dead Beat Dads

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 16: Trust, Devotion and Dead Beat Dads

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Straightening off the Impala, Sam nervously asked Cas as he approached, "So what did you tell Dean?"

"That you and I were stealing away for some bonding time," Cas drawled, making a beeline for the car door as if he expected something…or rather someone to try and stop him.

"And he bought that?" Sam incredulously asked.

Cas smiled over the hood of the Impala. "Not even for a little bit. Come on, before he flattens the agent Gabriel assigned to him and hitchhikes along with our little trip," Cas said, sliding into the Impala's driver's seat.

Hands resting on his hips, Sam gave one indecisive, last look back to the mayhem by the warehouse. '_Please God, let Dean forgive me for running out on him again_.' Then, his mind made up, he slipped into his brother's car. Knew that, what he and Cas were doing, it could turn out really good…or really bad. But one thought remained: It had to be done. And if Dean wouldn't do it for himself….

'_I'll do it for him_,' Sam vowed and that made leaving Dean behind, not so much bearable, but justifiable.

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Dean looked up when the interrogation door opened, knew how bad things were when he felt like _smiling_ at the sight of Gabriel. "'Bout time you showed up. You wanna remind your team that I'm the good guy."

Gabriel gave his mocking smile. "Are you? When did this happen?" laughed when a glacier glare came his way from Winchester. "Someone needs a caffeine fix," and to Dean's surprise, Gabriel sat a coffee cup in front of him, which he looked at suspiciously, because Gabriel bearing gifts…it wasn't the man's style.

Faced with Dean's distrustful, confused stare, Gabriel sighed, "Oh for Pete Sake! It's coffee. Just like you like it. One sugar, no cream."

Dean's confusion grew. The only person who paid attention to him enough to know how he took his coffee….A slow confident smile broke out on his lips. "Cas told you to treat me nice, to get me coffee."

"Actually he said if I didn't want my co-workers facing off with a Wookie who would rip off their limbs, I should probably get you some coffee, and be civil," Gabriel admitted, claiming a chair across from Dean.

Dean's smile turned smug. "So what hurts worse, being my waitress or having to be nice to me?"

"Both are equally humbling. But considering the commendation this caper will snag me, I'm willing to take the abuse to my ego," Gabriel returned, opening a folder and sliding it across for Dean's inspection. "You don't have the clearance for this but I thought you should at least see what almost got you killed."

Leaning intently forward, Dean picked up the glossy photo, knew instantly that he was looking at Kervent's wonder weapon. His eyes flew to Gabriel's. "It's handheld? Is it as powerful as Wesfield bragged it was?"

"Yup," Gabriel answered, tapping a piece of paper in the file.

Picking up that paper, Dean's eyebrows rose as he scanned the military report of the weapon's payload. Eyes meeting Gabriel's, he exhaled, "Whoa. If this got on the blackmarket…."  
>"Hello mayhem," the NCIS agent said, a seriousness in his eyes that rarely made an appearance. Then he slipped the paper from Dean's hand and reclaimed the folder. "But you didn't hear any of that from me…." a knowing twinkle in his eyes.<p>

"Trust me, I don't admit to knowing you, let alone having conversations with you," Dean shot back, watched as Gabriel stood up, headed for the door. But then Cas' cousin turned around, wore a look that almost passed for sorrowful.

"I tried to get your detective license reinstated, went up as high as I could…" Gabriel announced but his defeated tone said more than the rest of his words ever would.

Dean nodded and gave a forged smile. "Thanks anyway."

"If you don't mind working for the Man, I can put in a good word for you here at NCIS," Gabriel unexpectedly offered.

Dean tiled his head in mystification. He had never seen Gabriel as a go-to-bat-for-you kinda guy. Then something clicked in his head. "Cas put you up to this?" a twinge of anger emerging. "Figured since his Granddaddy's getting him a new job, he'd feel less guilty if he got me one?"

But Gabriel raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, leave me out of that. This offer, I'm ashamed to admit, was all on me." But then his eyes hardened. "And if you think Cas would only help you out of guilt…you don't know him at all. After all the crap he's gone through with you, _for you_, his loyalty is the last thing you should doubt."

Gabriel slammed the door at his exit, left his parting words to ping around in Dean's head.

Dean cursed in the new silence. It shouldn't have taken Gabriel's words to make him see things straight, but sadly, it had. Cas was the most loyal friend he had ever had. And the fact that he had tainted his best friend's devotion with his own insecurities…? It was like adding insult to injury.

Cas had nearly blown himself up trying to save him, had stayed with the agency when John had bailed and the money had been tight, had had his back every time he needed him to, even when Cas had disagreed with some of his plans. Most of his plans.

Every way that Dean's family had let him down…Cas had not. Not one single time.

'_No, I let __him__ down_,' Dean bitterly realized, suddenly wished that NCIS hadn't thought to confiscate his phone because, he had a call to make.

Both men jumped when the cellphone's ringtone broke the silence in the Impala. They shared a sheepish expression before the phone was pulled from a pocket.

Looking at the caller ID, Sam's eyes flew to Cas' in near panic. "Oh crap. It's Jess. I promised to call her tonight."

"You're a few hours past that," Cas helpfully supplied, earning him a familiar Winchester glare.

Unexpectedly nervous, Sam inhaled, tried to calm down, to tramp down the feeling that Jess would just _know_, would sense what he was beginning to. That he had changed, had been changing ever since he had left California, gotten on that plane, had changed the instant that he saw his brother again. But everything that had happened in the past few hours, it had caused his final transformation.

"Hey," Sam opened with, knew that he sounded guilty and weirded out.

"I was worried. You said you would call tonight," Jess greeted, her concern evident. "Is everything alright? I debated calling because it's almost two A.M. there but …you sound wide awake."

And Jess always was one to gather all the facts and try to analyze them. But he had stumped her, was still a mystery to her. Course it was impossible to put a puzzle together when you were missing the heart of the pieces.

"It's been …quite a night. We wrapped up the case," Sam proudly announced, shared a satisfied look with Cas.

"We…you mean you were helping your brother with his detective case?" Jess put her words together slowly, as if she thought that she misunderstood what Sam was implying.

"Well, yeah. Actually the detective agency is our family business. I worked there before I went to college," Sam professed, wondered why the declaration was coming so easily now when it had been too hard to acknowledge to anyone for the past four years.

"Family business…" Jess repeated, her state of shock carrying through the phone connection. "You never told me that. Any of this, Sam. So you, what, were a teenage Hardy Boy, solved cases, found missing neighborhood pets? Next thing you'll tell me you know how to shoot a gun," she scoffed but Sam's marked silence was answer enough. "My gosh, Sam! Our whole life together is a lie."

"It's not a lie, Jess," Sam quickly refuted. "There were just things I needed to keep to myself."

"Needed or wanted to keep to yourself?" Jess fired back. "You asked if I trusted you, but the truth is, you don't trust me. Not to tell me about your family, about your family business, not even about yourself. I feel like I don't even know you at all."

"You know me, Jess!" Sam insisted. "Better than anyone else on campus."

"But that's not saying much, is it, Sam," Jess unmercifully hit the nail on the head. "You keep so much of yourself hidden, I wonder if your brother even knows you."

Sam bit his lip. That one hurt because he had kept things from Dean too. The past four years he had lived in secret. "I want to change that." And he did, no longer wanted his life to be separate from his brother's. Knowing what he was starting….and possibly ending with his next words, he swallowed hard before he could get them out, "It's why I'm staying here."

Cas' head snapped right. He thought, for a moment, that he had misheard Sam, but when the younger man gave him a shy glance, he knew he had heard right. And it was great news…._for Dean_. But Cas couldn't help but selfishly catalogue it as some of the worst news for himself. Because, if Sam stayed, if Dean had his brother to watch his back... '_Why would Dean need me to stick around_?'

Frowning at the tightness that settled into Cas' features, Sam didn't catch Jess' next words. "Wait. What?"

"So you're breaking up with me?" Jess managed to get past her constricted throat.

"No, I'm saying….I'm staying here and maybe, well, you could find a job out here."

Stilted silence fell before Jess spoke again, using her most calm, rational tone. "Me move…to Kansas? And you're going to get your law degree from a college near where your brother lives…."

"No," Sam bluntly stated. "I'm not going back to school."

"What? Why? Because your brother's business took a bad turn? Sam, I understand family loyalty but you have your own life all planned out. We have our life planned out…don't we?"

Suddenly the conversation was turning out to be the second hardest one Sam had ever had. The first had been when he told his dad and Dean he was leaving them and heading to college. "I …Dean has to be part of my life."

"So he gave you some ultimatum, some guilt trip?" Jess' ire raised, not for Sam but for Sam's brother, a person she had never met but who was single-handedly ruining her future.

"No, this isn't something Dean asked of me," Sam hoarsely admitted, knew that his offer to stay, Dean might throw it back into his face, that it might not be even something Dean wanted. That his brother might be counting the days until he got on a plane and headed back to California. '_He even bought you the plane ticket. Isn't that proof enough_ _of how Dean feels?_' his little voice goaded.

"Ok, we can compromise," Jess suggested. "We can spread some holidays with your brother or he can come out here. Just….come home and we'll talk things out, see what works best."

"I _am_ home," Sam candidly avowed, knew the second that the words were out of his mouth how very true they were. _Dean_ was his home. That the answer to his earlier question of whether it was possible for his heart to claim two places as home was no, not for him. Not if he didn't want to live the next seventy years like he had the last four: half alive, heart not whole, wishing he could get back what he had foolishly thrown away.

Jess's voice cracked when she said his name, "Sam…."

"We were talking about moving closer to your parents so I know you're not that hooked on California," Sam rationalized, part of him hoping that he didn't have to give up Jess. "Kansas isn't the boonies that you think it is."

"We talked about moving nearer to my family because I'm _close_ with my family. I talk about them and to them. I don't treat them like some dirty little secret I don't want anyone to know about," Jess heatedly volleyed back.

It was another direct hit that Sam couldn't deny, felt his shame increase. "I know I didn't tell you much about Dean…my family. And, yeah, I haven't been …close with them. And that's all been my fault, not Dean's. But this is my chance to change that."

"A reunion of a few days and all of sudden you can't live without your brother? Sam, if you've been out of touch so long, how well do you even know Dean anymore?"

Sam stiffened at Jess' accusation. "I know that he would accept you solely because I care about you, no questions asked." Because that was just who Dean was, he was this guy that came off all gruff but had a heart of gold, who was always concerned about his little brother's happiness and his father's more than his own.

Jess' comeback was cold and biting. "Well, then he's a better person than I am."

"Guess so," Sam rawly returned, would not besmirch Dean, not even to keep Jess.

"So, having me, me loving you, wanting a life _for us_, it's suddenly not enough for you?" Jess' tersely asked, her voice thread.

For all the lies Sam had told Jess, he refused to tell her another. "Jess, I was never going to be happy without my brother in my life. I know that now." And it was the most honest he had ever been with her…or even with himself. Knew that now he had to let the chips fall where they may. Because, finally, he knew what he wanted out of his life and he knew who he could live without…and who he couldn't.

For the first time, Jess' broke down into a sob. "I can't believe you mean all of this. We were about to have everything that we wanted…"

"Not everything," Sam sorrowfully admitted, knew that, even as he had contemplated buying Jess an engagement ring, that the future he was mapping out, it was more a goal than a wish come true. "I'm sorry, Jess. I should have figured things out before this, I just….I didn't know….Dean's my family, Jess. And he might kick me to the curb, might not forgive me anymore than you can but …I can't think of forming a new family without trying to see if I can be a part of the family I already have."

"I'll….I'll box up your stuff, send it to you," Jess quietly said, her words unmistakably conveying her decision. "Have a good life, Sam."

"You too, Jess…." Sam returned but he was talking to air. Jessica Moore had ended things before he could. And part of him mourned the loss of what could have been.

Numbly dropping the phone into the Impala's dashboard, Sam leaned his head back against the seat and covered his face with his hands.

Cas knew that FBI agents weren't supposed to get all misty eyed over a breakup, especially one that they weren't even involved in, but, crap, his eyes were burning. Part of him wished Dean had been there to hear what Sam had said, and the other part of him knew that Dean wouldn't have believed Sam's sentiments, would insist Sam head back to California, wouldn't want his brother to give up his picture perfect life, certainly not for him, because of him.

Snatching up Sam's phone, Cas nudged Sam with his elbow, held the phone out to the younger man when Sam dropped his hands, raised his eyes. "Call her back," he ordered, knew that, in Dean's absence it was his job to protect Dean's interests, namely Dean's baby brother. "Work out a compromise that you can all live with. Dean doesn't begrudge you your future…or your happiness. He just wants to be part of it and I know he'll move heaven and earth around whatever schedule he has to…"

But Sam didn't take the phone, instead he shook his head. "Dean compromised for me, for my happiness his whole _life_, Cas. I'm not asking him to do it again."

"But you were serious about this girl…." Cas gently asked, pointed out.

"Yeah, but …" Sam shrugged, "…she didn't know me, not the real me and she didn't even meet Dean before she passed judgment…."

"He would have won her over," Cas confidently boasted, had faith in his best friend's big heart.

Sam couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. Knowing my luck, she probably would have dumped me for him."

"But Dean would never take your leftovers," Cas joked.

Sam couldn't help but snort. "Yeah. I'm not sure if that's about honor and brotherhood or just pride."

Cas smirked but knew it had everything to do with Dean's loyalty, knew by Sam's fond expression that he did to. Then, trading looks between the road and his traveling companion, he ventured, "Sam, you don't have to be the one to talk to your dad."

Sam gave Cas a measuring look. "I handle Jess that badly?"

"No, no. Just…you don't need to take all of this on yourself," Cas carefully expressed, knew that Sam was on edge and didn't want John Winchester to be the one to topple him into the abyss.

"I've been avoiding these conversations for four years, I think it's time I step up to the plate," Sam contritely replied, but that didn't mean he wasn't dreading the upcoming reunion/confrontation.

"OK, well…if you need someone to slug your dad…" Cas offered with a mischievous grin.

Mouth turning up into a true smile, Sam faced his brother's best friend, "You're volunteering, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Cas drawled because, a good right cross to the jaw, that was the very least he owed Dean's father.

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Too late John Winchester sensed that he wasn't alone, realized that he should have turned on the light before entering the motel room. Cursing himself for getting sloppy, he wondered if this was how it was going to end for him. And though he managed to get his gun clear of its holster, he was slammed against the wall and his arm pinned before he could point the gun at the shadowed figure by the window.

He was about to send a punch into his intruder's gut when the moonlight illuminated the man's profile. "Angelo?" he exclaimed in utter shock.

Heart racing, Cas was still coming to terms with the fact that John had pulled a gun on his own son, had almost unknowingly shot Sam. '_Might have too, if I hadn't been here_,' Cas recognized, sensed that Winchester was more on edge than he had ever seen him before.

"What are you doing here?" John growled, pushing Cas away from him before he stilled. The possible reason for the other man's presence started to sink in, like a .45 round to the chest. "Dean?" he choked out, his voice barely audible but his fear for his eldest son loud and clear.

'_Too little, too late_,' Cas internally snarled at John's concern. Firming up his stance, he protectively stood between Sam and his father.

"Like you care," Sam sourly bristled, stepping away from the window and toward his father.

"Sam?" John nearly whispered, too shocked to contemplate the improbability of his guess. And then the room filled with light and he came face to face with his youngest son.

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TBC

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Thanks for the lovely reviews for last chapter and for tuning in again to this story.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	17. Chapter 17: Letting Go and Holding On

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 17: Letting Go and Holding On

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Sam thought it would feel different, better, seeing his father after all the time that had passed. Especially since he never expected to lay eyes on him again, their last parting signifying that once he left, he should stay gone. But Dean's shooting had changed that. Course Dean had always managed to find ways to mend the tears in their tenuous father-son bond.

However, Dean wasn't there now…had almost been lost to them both, forever.

And his father didn't care. Was as willing to write off his loyal son as he had his disloyal one. The reason? It was literally written on the walls.

"Four years and nothing's changed," Sam said, bitterness resonating through his every word as he reached out, tapped the glossy pictures taped to the motel room walls. Pictures of other murdered women, research that his father hoped would lead him to Mary Winchester's murderer. Facing his father with disgust, he spat, "This is still the only thing you care about."

"Nothing has changed with your attitude, either," John parried back, stance stiffening as if he were facing off with an adversary instead of his own estranged son that he hadn't seen in four long years.

Sagely, Sam nodded his head, "Ok. So we pick up where we left off, that right?" He shouldn't be surprised, he knew that. After all, his father had never understood him, why would he now.

Breaking eye contact with Sam, John demanded of Cas, "What are you two doing here?"

Stepping between Cas and John, Sam challenged, "You're not even going to _ask_ if Dean's alright?"

Anger glittered in John's eyes. "I know he is. He left me a voice message a few days ago."

"Yeah, and you left him one," Sam scathingly flung back, his father's message, the disappointment, the judgment in his tone, his words were imprinted in his brain. "He nearly died and all you cared about was the agency's reputation."

John smiled but it was malicious, patronizing. "Shoulder wound, that's hardly life threatening."

Cas stepped forward, was going to punch the man, with or without Sam's permission.

But Sam flung his arm out, barred Cas's way to his father.

Swinging his furious gaze to Sam, Cas was going to tell the kid to get out of his way. Thought that some of his nightmares about Dean getting gunned down, waiting in the hospital just beyond the surgery wing, the sight of his best friend's blood staining the agency's floor, might just lose some of their painful edge if he plummeted John Winchester until he ran out of energy. Made someone pay for allowing harm to come to Dean.

The look Cas saw in Sam's eyes stopped him, cold. Because whatever anger boiled under his surface, a deeper, darker current of rage simmered in Dean's brother. Nodding, he stepped back, allowed Sam his right to deal with his own father, with his own family fallout.

Sam was grateful that Cas had backed down, not because he didn't want his father to be supporting a black eye but because he was afraid it would open a flood gate. Would give the green light for a full out brawl, would give him the opening to hurt his own father and as much as he could live with that….he knew Dean wouldn't want that. That no matter what their father had done, how many ways he had hurt Dean, disappointed Dean, his brother still thought John deserved to be honored as their father. But that didn't mean he was going to give the man a free pass, not by a long shot.

Shaking his head, Sam gave a subzero bark of dark laughter. "It's the same obsession with you. Dean could be _dead_…" he swallowed, hated that his voice had cracked on that last word, that he let his vulnerabilities show. Then he realized that Dean, that Dean's close call _deserved_ that emotional response from him. He wasn't the closed off jerk his father was, didn't want to ever be. "Your son could have died and you don't care. Tell me, if he did, would you spend even _one day_ looking for his killer or can you only devote twenty two years looking for your wife's killer? A wife you were on the brink of divorce with?"

Sam's head snapped left with the force of his father's slap. He could still feel the imprint of his father's palm on his cheek when he calmly faced his father. "That's about what I expected from you."

John couldn't pull his eyes away from the red blotch on his son's cheek, of the evidence of his physical attack on Sam. "I….I'm doing all this…."  
>But Sam ruthlessly cut him off, had heard all the lies before. "Don't say you're doing this to protect me, to protect Dean. They aren't coming after us, Dad! The people who killed Mom. The only danger we've <span>ever <span>been in is the danger you keep putting us in, dragging us into your guilty need for absolution."

"I taught you skills!" John exploded, getting into Sam's face until they were mere inches apart. "Your brother would be dead right now without them."

Sam used his height to tower over his father, to prove that, he wasn't the young kid his father could order around, push away, ignore when he raised concerns about his brother's wellbeing. "Dean wouldn't have gotten shot if you hadn't pulled him into your stupid crusade!"

Intervening, Cas shoved the two Winchesters apart, would have cheered Sam on for landing a punch but was protective of the other man, didn't want Sam to be on the receiving end of another blow from his father that he would be, once again, too stunned, too slow to prevent. He had always thanked God that John and Dean had never come to physical blows, but he had never wanted to take the chance, had always broken them up way before that threshold was crossed. Not that Dean would have ever been the instigator…

"That's enough!" Cas growled as he slid between the two men. Staring John down, he pulled the license renewal and another paper from his pocket and shoved the packet against John's chest. "All we came for was your signature. Sign them and we'll be gone."

"What papers?" John grumbled, crumpling the papers in his meaty paw. "You mean about the agency license?" he guessed a second later, derision dripping from his question. Eyes shifting from Dean's loyal dog who was practically snapping in his face to his son, John goaded, "Dean's mess put our reputation on the line. Maybe he should have to live with the consequences."

Cas didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that Sam was advancing, that things were _thisclose_ to getting out of hand. '_Crap, Dean said he played referee between Sam and his father growing up but I didn't know how bad it was, could get.' _And for the first time, he wished Dean was there, realized that he might be out of his league.

"Don't you dare lay this on Dean!" Sam lethally warned, hands fisted at his side, aching to be unleashed.

"Aww, still idolizing big brother," John mockingly drawled, his condescension like a red flag to a bull.

Spinning a half turn, Cas pressed his hands on both Sam and John's chest, shouted, "Stop it! Both of you!" channeling some of Dean. And it worked. The room fell silent and Sam stopped his charge for his father. But the fire in his eyes didn't dim.

"He's a better man than my father ever was," Sam hoarsely declared, the long held back words finally breaking free. Saw the flinch across his father's features and couldn't find it in him to feel even one drop of remorse. John could choke on that truth for all he cared.

Sensing that John's stupor would herald an offensive in the next second, Cas shoved John back two steps, got him farther away from Sam, resolved that the man wasn't getting to the kid, would have to go through him to lay a hand, _another hand_ on Sam. Giving the man a rough shake, he snagged John's full attention to himself. "Sign the forms or, so help me God, I'll bring you up on Federal charges."

John snorted. "For what?"

"Pissing me off, for starters," Cas acidly shot back. "Secondly, identification fraud and impersonating an officer of the law."

John's eyebrows rose in surprise at Cas' list but he didn't speak as Cas continued.

"Because, the last time I checked, your last name wasn't Sauders," Cas said as he picked up the fake badge from off the room's table and tossed it at John, who deftly caught it.

"Dean won't let you put me in jail," John smugly returned, was smart enough to not lay the same bet down on Sam's reverence for his own father. Sam's next words confirmed his doubts.

"Well, Dean's not here right now, is he. You count on his loyalty, twist it to your own needs," Sam scoffed, then regret filled his expression. "And the sad thing is, even though he knows you're a grade A loser of a father, he refuses to give up on you."

That revelation, it went directly to John's heart. Reminded him so much of Mary, of her loyalty to him, to their family, to their life together. She never gave up on him, on them….he did. It was always his decision to walk away, to stay gone. Was her forgiveness and wish for a reconciliation that brought him back time after time. And he knew she would have always asked him to come back, would have done it for the sake of his sons long after her own desire for his return crumbled away.

Sensing an opening, a softening in the harsh set to his father's features, Sam implored, "Don't take the agency away from him, Dad. He's earned it, a thousand times over."

"Earned it?" John repeated, not in anger but surprise.

Cas pulled the mangled papers from John's hand and presented the first form to John. "This form is to renew the PI license. And the second one," he added the other form to the first, "is you giving up all your rights to the agency and handing it over to Dean."

Sam's head jerked to Cas in surprise as the second form's purpose sank it. It wasn't like he was opposed to the idea but he just hadn't seen it coming. And neither had John.

"I built that agency!" John railed, eyes lifting from the papers to the detective associate he rued the day that he had let Dean talk him into hiring.

"And Dean kept it alive," Sam placidly pointed out, saw the shock in his father's eyes as they rested on him. "And with it, he has done more good for people than either of us has in the past couple of years. Heck, our whole lives."

John found he couldn't deny that, that the passion Dean brought to his work, it was a marvel, even to a heart as hardened as his was.

Sam moved closer to his father, watched as Cas stepped aside, realized that, what happened next, it was between him and his father, that his brother's fate, it rested in their hands. And that was a terrifying thought because they were both experts at hurting Dean, not saving him. '_But that changes now_.'

Meeting his father's cloudy gaze, Sam entreated, "If you love Dean, if there's a part of him like Mom that you still value, let him go, Dad." Because, it was somehow clearer than it had ever been. John thought, if Dean was cut adrift from the agency, that Dean would falter, would cling tighter to him. That he would finally know that Dean had stayed behind for him, not for the agency or for the work. That he'd finally be sure that one of his sons loved him enough to not leave.

"He's my son…" John brokenly declared, because, loving Dean, it was hardwired into him, was coiled into his soul the second that he had held him in his arms when he was born.

Sam's heart ached for his father for the first time in more years than he could remember. "That won't change. But you can't keep blackmailing him just to keep your relationship alive, to tie him to you."

John's sorrowful eyes rose to Sam's. "What do you know about wanting someone to stay? To come back? To miss you when you're gone and want you back? You left…and you weren't ever coming back, not for Dean's sake, never for mine. I don't even know why you're here now, what could have enticed you to remember you have a family, let alone spurred you into returning to it."

"Almost losing Dean," Sam hoarsely confessed, knew that it shouldn't have taken the worst almost happening to wake him up, but it had. "You didn't come back to him when you knew he was shot, but I did." He gave a laugh more sob than humor. "It's a testament to how screwed up our lives are that I'm almost grateful you didn't come, that someone tried to kill my brother and it hit national news. If Dean was smart, he would ditch us both and never look back."

"But he won't," John huskily predicted. "He's too much like your mother, would never want to do anything to hurt his family."

Biting his lip, trying to keep himself locked down emotionally, Sam nodded, knew that about his brother but had never known it was a trait Dean had inherited. A trait that was enviable…if Dean wasn't saddled with a family that consisted of two selfish jerks who only thought of their own needs, never his. '_Until now. Now that it's almost too late.'_

Numbly, John took the proffered papers from Cas, almost smirked when the former FBI agent had a pen at the ready and handed it to him. It was as if the little jerk was about to shove the pen in his hand, put a gun to his head and make him sign away his ties to the only son that had never looked at him with hatred. No matter what he ever did.

John scribbled his signature, not on the renewal license only but on the other form too, the one that forfeited his last hold on Dean. Then, instead of returning the documents to Cas, he held them out to Sam.

Reverently, Sam accepted the papers, Dean's future, into his hands.

"Sam, I…" John began but petered out when Sam's eyes rose to meet his. How could he make up for being who he was, could swear to change and know, even as he spoke the words, that he didn't mean them.

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line. He could read his father like a book, always could. There would be no surprise transformation, no snapping out of his blinded obsession for absolution for not preventing his wife's murder. He would never be the father he once was, that Dean had known, so briefly in those first years of his childhood. Would never be the father Dean deserved. But at least John could do the right thing by Dean, could let Dean go. '_And Dean will see it as his failure as a son, that the fault for the dissolution of their family, it rested on his shoulders…when it never did. Never would.'_

"Tell Dean…" John tried again but Sam's look hardened, warned him that if he made one misstep when it came to Sam's big brother, the small bridge they had pieced together would crumble.

Then Sam brushed by him, headed for the door, was walking out of his life. John knew that the words that were left unspoken, they were practically his own, flung silently back at him. '_If you're going, then stay gone'_ except they were '_If you're going to stay gone, then don't ever come back.'_

Hand on the door knob, Sam stopped, remembered that, he wasn't here for himself, to get what he wanted. He was here for Dean, to ensure that Dean got what he wanted out of life for a change. And, no matter John's unworthiness, his brother wouldn't want his father to stay away. Dean wouldn't want him to keep their father away, even if it was to protect him, to guarantee that the man didn't find new ways to hurt his brother's too vulnerable heart. So he turned, looked back at his father, saw the man as he had never seen him before, as a soul lost and hurting, lashing out because it was the only way he knew how to keep living. And maybe that was what Dean saw when he looked at their father, a soul that needed saving, that he thought he could save, should save.

"You know where we'll be if…." Sam offered, but didn't finish the rest, couldn't, didn't have to because John nodded, accepted the near invite. And then Sam walked out the door, left his father behind and didn't look back. His future didn't belong with that member of his family, it never had.

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Cas called out Sam's name, halted the taller man's headlong pace to the Impala. But when Sam spun around, ready to defend his invitation for his father to come wreck havoc on Dean's life, it wasn't anger in Cas' eyes but pride. "Here," Cas said, tossing the Impala keys to Sam, who easily caught them. "Just so you know, anything happens to Dean's baby and it won't matter that you're his brother," he warned as he claimed the shotgun seat in the classic car, thought he was going to have to call Sam's name to get the younger man to break out of his stupor.

But then Sam moved, climbed into his brother's car and actually smiled as he slid the keys into the ignition, as the car's engine growled to life. He sobered the next moment, made a big deal about straightening out the creased papers bearing his father's name. "Cas…thanks for…" he began his shining eyes coming up to rest on Cas', didn't know how he could even express all that Cas had done for him in that room.

"You're welcome," Cas interjected, didn't need Sam's gratitude. After all, he hadn't done if for Sam, had done if for Dean. All of it.

Sam looked like he wanted to say the words anyway, then simply nodded and handed the papers to Cas, saw that the man treated them like they were ancient parchment, needed kid gloves to be handled. In that moment, Sam knew that Dean would laugh at the both of them, that if his brother would be there right now he would rip the papers from Cas and carelessly toss them into the back seat of the Impala. "Having a Fed as a bodyguard, I could get used to that," Sam joked, enjoyed Cas' dark glare.

"Like keeping your brother in line doesn't already take up all my time," Cas grumbled back but then his mirth faded as the realization started to soak into his soul. Sam was staying. Sam was really staying. Had told Jess sayonara, had told his father where "we'll be"…meaning him AND Dean. Sam was staying…_'And I'm leaving_.'

Because there was no way he was going to make Dean choose, he owed Dean better than that. Way better. No, he would do this for Dean, would walk away, let him have his baby brother at his side, where he belonged. And it couldn't matter that it would feel like he was amputating a limb, was performing some self-mutilation that he may or may not survive. You did what was right for the people you loved, even if it hurt you down to the bone. Dean had taught him that. Had showed him that when you cared about someone, you had to care about them more than you cared about yourself, had to be willing to sacrifice everything you wanted so they could have everything you never had.

'_Like a brother you love as fiercely as if the same blood ran through his veins as it does yours.' _

And even now, he couldn't help but wonder if Sam Winchester knew how blessed he truly was. That what he had, Cas would have bargained away a lot more than his badge to keep.

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It wasn't surprising that he only got Cas' voice mail but it was vexing all the same. Slapping the phone down onto the table in his kitchen, Dean contemplated his next move. It didn't take a genius to figure out what mission Cas and Sam were embarking on. The idiots thought he needed saving, that he wouldn't survive if he suddenly couldn't tack, "detective", to the end of his moniker. He had survived worse, way worse.

Biting his fingernail, his internal debate raged. He knew the right thing to do but it was the last thing he thought he could bear. Sam would be leaving and if he did what he knew he should, did what he owed Cas…his friend would be gone too.

And he would be alone. The thing he hated most in the world.

'_This isn't about you. This is about Cas, about fixing what you screwed up_,' Dean chastised himself.

Exhaling, he reached for the phone, dialed a number he had gotten off of his best friend's phone. Answered the baritone greeting with, "General Angelo, we've never met but my name's Dean Winchester. I work with your grandson, Cas…ah ..Castiel."

"I know who you are," Cas's grandfather coldly returned, his censure for his caller unmistakable.

"Guess my reputation precedes me," Dean joked, gave a forced laugh which was only met with disdainful silence. '_Crap, this is worse than talking to my Dad,_' "Ah, ok. Well, this call isn't about my reputation. It's about Cas'."

"You should have thought about that before your antics got him on the national news," the General spat, still remembered his Aid rushing in, telling him that his grandson was on the news, that there had been a shooting. His blood had run cold. He had thought he knew the risks Cas was taking hanging around that Winchester kid…until that moment. Suddenly, the true cost of his grandson's rebellion hit him. Cas could die. His grandson's blind loyalty to Dean Winchester could cost him more than his chances of returning to a lucrative career, could cost him his life.

Dean's head tilted in confusion. '_National news? What the_….' Yeah, Sam had heard about the shooting on the news but Cas _being _on the news…that was …well, news to him. "Whatever. Point is…I want Cas to have a clean slate. On his résumé….and with you." Dean knew that his request was sinking in at the other man's silence. "No more holding it over his head that he left the FBI, threw in his lots with a lowly detective agency. Just…let him come back to you, help him find a job he likes…even if you don't approve of it."

"And why would I do all this, because _you_ asked me too?" the General questioned but there was more curiosity than contempt in his tone, was finding his grandson's friend and boss to be…not what he expected.

"No," Dean firmly replied, knew he didn't deserve that kind of respect from the other man. "I think you'll do it because you love Cas, because you're a better man than my father."

Cas' grandfather was blindsided by Winchester's blunt, earnest assertion.

Then Dean's voice turned hard, adamant, "Because Cas deserves nothing less from you." And he would not accept any less for his best friend, would not let Cas' future be as dismal as his own, would not let even Cas' family treat Cas with disrespect.

"He doesn't know you're calling me, does he?" Cas' grandfather asked, his voice trading up its general, patriarch tone for an amused lilt.

Thrown off by the question, Dean drawled, "No."

"I'm not sure who he'd be madder at about this conversation…me or you." And there was honest to goodness _amusement_ in the General's tone.

"Ah…me," Dean admitted. Cas would be ripping him a new one if he knew he even had his grandfather's number let alone was using it, holding this type of conversation, behind his back.

"Don't be so sure, son," Cas' grandfather chuckled, knew how well his grandson liked Winchester, that Cas would object to the way he was talking to his best friend. He was just starting to understand why. That Dean Winchester wasn't all swagger, had heart too. And devotion, was loyal, in spades…to Cas. That his grandson's judgment wasn't as inapt as had believed, that Cas wasn't as lost as he thought he was, might not be lost at all. Might be just where he was supposed to be.

For one of the rarest of instances, General Angelo conceded a battle. "I'll do as you ask." Before Winchester could react, he tacked on, "but he won't take any jobs that I line up for him, won't let me help him land a new job."

"What? Why?" Dean asked in confusion, didn't think Cas was _that_ stubborn.

Unbeknownst to Winchester, the General found himself smiling. But he hid it from his tone when he answered the detective. "Call it a gut instinct," he vaguely gave in reply, didn't want to feed the man's ego with the truth. That Cas had chosen sides a long time ago, had found a place he fit better than he did even in his own family. That his grandson wouldn't leave Dean's side, no matter the odds they faced. That whatever terrible hole the death of Cas' parents had ripped in his grandson's soul, Dean had started to fill that void, to mend it. To his surprise, he actually felt _grateful_ for the man's presence in Cas' life.

"But you'll try?" Dean pressed, didn't know what the other man saw in Cas but he didn't want him copping out because manhandling Cas was hard. If anyone knew that, it was him.

"I'll offer him any assistance I can. But we both know he's going to stay with your agency," the General said, knew that he wasn't as direct as he could have been. He knew that Cas was going to stay _with Dean_…no matter if that meant the two of them standing in the unemployment line together.

"Well, that isn't an option so I'm counting on you to do right by him," Dean shot back, needed more reassures than 'I'll try'.

And it humbled the General, that someone else thought they had to force him to treat his own grandson with kindness. But as he reflected over his interaction with Cas during the last few years, he shamefully had to admit that maybe they did. "I will this time. I promise."

Satisfied, Dean said, "Well….thanks," before he ended the call, let Cas' general of a grandfather get back to keeping the nation safe, that was right after the man made sure his own grandson was taken care of.

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Shooting a look to his companion in the Impala's passenger seat, Sam guessed, "That Dean again?" nodding toward the cellphone Cas held, at the missed call screen the other man had brought up.

"Yeah," Cas allowed, turning off the phone before Dean called back, before the detective thought to try and triangulate _his_ GPS signal. Slipping his phone into his pocket, his attention returned to the scenery outside the windshield.

Worry spiked in Sam, caused him to do what Dean taught him to do in those situations: Voice it as a joke. "Man, it's going to be a _long_ eight hour drive if you've taken a vow of silence."

"I didn't take a vow of silence," Cas groused back, his tone low and his eyes still markedly staying away from Dean's brother's.

"Prove it. Talk to me," Sam challenged, had come to know Cas well enough to know that something was up with the other man. That they should be celebrating…and it felt more like they were part of a funeral procession.

"Got nothing to say right now," Cas monotoned, knew he sounded like a petulant child but couldn't help it. Couldn't help feeling…..pissed at Sam Winchester, for coming back, for being….so likeable. For not being the heartless jerk to Dean he thought he was…had been for the last four years. For taking his place at Dean's side. '_And I helped him. I brought him to Dean's house, played counselor for their relationship. I'm as much to blame for things ending up this way as Sam.'_

But Sam was as perceptive as Dean always was.

"You have nothing to say _at all_…or to me?" Sam quietly posed, was getting a vibe off Cas that was making his stomach churn.

"Both," Cas briskly allowed, eyes hitting Sam's for a heartbeat before sliding away.

It didn't take a psych class for Sam to know that Cas' words meant he was mad at him. But it did take knowing the bond between Cas and Dean to read between the lines. "This is about me staying, isn't it," Eyes shifting nervously from road to Cas and back again. The change in Cas' posture was answer enough. "I know you think you can't trust me, that Dean shouldn't trust me. I get that, I do."

And if that were it, Cas would know what to do, would stay glued to Dean's side, would be the buffer he always was between Dean and his family. "I …trust you." And he did, trusted Sam with Dean's life, with Dean's _heart_, trusted Sam to protect Dean instead of hurt him.

Stumped by Cas' declaration but still cut off from the other man's eyes contact, Sam had to flounder for an explanation. "Then I…I don't know what's wrong."

"What could possibly be wrong?" Cas bitingly returned, his eyes lancing into Sam's. "You'll slip back into the spot you abandoned, just like nothing happened."

Sam swallowed, knew he deserved Cas' contempt for his past sins, knew just as well that the other man was wrong. He had hurt Dean and there was no undoing that. Dean might…no, _would,_ practically _had_ forgiven him, but Dean would never forget that he had left him, abandoned him. Would never let his guard down with him, never trust him fully.

There was only one person who had earned Dean's trust and never broke it. "No. No I won't," Sam hoarsely denied, looking at the person who held that honor.

When Cas' eyes snapped to his in surprise, worry, Sam gave a bittersweet smile, "Spot's not mine to have anymore, is it?" almost hoped that Cas would relinquish it, would give him back what he wanted most of all.

"It will be," Cas evenly announced, eyes flinching away from Sam's wide eyed surprise. "I have a meeting with my grandfather on Tuesday. He's wanted me to get back into the family business…"

Sam's breath caught in his throat, had heard Gabriel's taunt about Cas using his grandfather's connections to get a new job but that was….before. Before they had papers in hand that saved everything, everyone. "No but….the agency license will be renewed. You don't have to find a new job." '_You can't leave Dean!'_

Cas cleared his throat, sat up straighter, met Sam's eyes again. "I think I do."

Suddenly all the pieces came together. Cas' silence, his resentment, his sorrow….the decision Cas thought he had to make. For Dean. To give Dean what Cas thought Dean wanted. '_But he's wrong. I wish he wasn't but he's wrong,_' Sam realized, because Dean had always wanted him to be his partner..and he had tossed that request, that desire back into his brother's face. Had chosen something…anything over that. And there was no undoing that. But someone had soothed the hurt he had caused, someone that wasn't him.

"No, you don't," Sam growled, hands fisting around the steering wheel, would not let Dean get hurt again.

"Sam, you and Dean…" Cas began even as the words he was about to say soured his gut.

But Sam cut him off, knew where it was all heading. "Dean has to accept me, I'm his brother but he _chose_ you, let you in," Sam stressed, eyes more on Cas than the road, needed to get the man to see reason. "And take it from me, that's a rare thing. Especially after what happened to Mom, how Dad and I treated him. So you try walking out on my brother, regardless of your mad FBI fighting skills, and I swear, I'll give you a beat down."

Stunned, it took Cas a moment to process Sam's words, his intentions, to realize that Sam wasn't packing his bags for him, no, Dean's brother was bodily _threatening_ him if he walked away, dared to skip out on Dean. Eyes meeting Sam's, he knew the younger man was waiting for his comeback, to determine if he had to throw a punch or not. "Wow. You're delusional, just like your brother."

Sam's tension bled away, was replaced by relief and gratitude. "Not delusional, determined. Cas, he needs you, wants you around. That I know," he earnestly pledged, could see the acceptance and humbleness gathering in Cas' eyes. "If he wants me around? That's another story. But I'll take whatever scraps he'll give me. And I know, he doesn't trust me, that I don't deserve that, not yet. But I'm going to earn it back, all of it, I will."

"I know you will and I..I don't want to mess that up," Cas carefully admitted was afraid that Sam would rescind his offer for him to stay at the agency but at the same time, he wanted to put Dean's happiness first.

Sam smirked. "You won't. You'll keep Dean and me from ripping each other apart, needing couple's counseling. And like you said, keeping Dean in line, that's your job."

"_Our_ job," Cas corrected, found he meant it.

"No. No. No. I don't want to overstep my boundaries," Sam teasingly denied.

Smiling, Cas tossed Sam's own words back at him. "Like you said, it's more than a one man job keeping Dean out of trouble. So….I welcome the help." And he extended his hand to Sam.

Without hesitation, Sam shook Cas' hand, sealing their own partnership pact. And then he laughed. "Man, I so wouldn't have wanted to be those NCIS agents last night." Because sidetracking Dean when his brother wanted to do something, that was like taking your life in your hands.

Cas smirked. "I told Gabriel to take Dean's phone away…but bring him coffee."

"You didn't?" Sam goaded with mirth.

Cas smirk turned into a smug smile. "When I compared Dean with a disgruntled Wookie, Gabriel asked if Dean liked cream and sugar in his coffee."

Sam laughed and Cas' own chuckle joined in.

But all too soon Cas sobered and his eyes creased with worry as he studied Sam. "So what are you going to tell Dean about your visit with your dad?"

Sam's lips thinned into a tight line at Cas' question. The last thing he wanted to do was lie to Dean…but the very first thing he would do was make sure Dean didn't get hurt. "I haven't figured that out yet," he murmured, timidly met Cas' sympathetic look.

"Whatever you decide…" Cas began, could see Sam's apprehensiveness grow before he pledged, "I'll go along with it," because he trusted Sam to do the right thing. Had discovered, through all the arguing, life threatening situations, startling revelations of the past few days, that no matter how different he and Sam were, they felt the same way about Dean. That they would both do anything to protect him…even if that meant ganging up on him for his own good.

Sam wasn't expecting Cas' blessings, didn't know his decision was hinging on the other man's reaction until Cas sided with him. He gave a nod of thanks and understanding to Cas before he focused on the road ahead. The road that would take him…. take _them_ back to Dean.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading! And thank you all for your wonderful reviews for last chapter!

So the next chapter should be the last. I'm actually sad to see this little AU world come to a close. You guys welcomed it so wonderfully that you have me totally spoiled. Thanks!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	18. Chapter 18:Truth,Lies&the American Dream

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: You guys that have read some of my tales before probably saw this coming, know that when I'm tying up a story, I end up always write _too much_. This is no exception! So I decided to break this "final" chapter into two chapters. And, to give credit where credit is most certainly due, I stole some lines right out of show, especially episode 4:22 for this part.

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Chapter 18: Truth, Lies and The American Dream

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For all the unanswered calls he had made that day, Dean almost startled when his silent as a tomb cellphone finally came to life with a guitar rift. He couldn't hold back a smirk at the caller ID. "Sorry, who's calling? I don't recognize the name," he taunted.

"I was going to bring you pie but if you're going to be like that…." Cas retorted as he gave a wink to Sam, who smiled. They both knew the way to Dean's heart.

"Liar," Dean snorted. "So you two go the whole way to _California_ for your secret squirrel mission?" he charged, a little miffed that not only had his best friend and brother bailed on him but they had cut off communication with him all day long.

Knowing that California wasn't just a random state Dean decided to use as an example, that the other man associated California with abandonment, Cas was quick to joke back, "Nah. TJ Mexico," Chose that locale because he knew that was where Dean always bragged he would go when he took a vacation. IF he ever took a vacation, that is.

"Don't tease me, Cas," Dean grumbled, wished that he **was** on some beach knocking back Margaritas instead of about ready to do what he was.

Detecting his friend's exhaustion, Cas' next words were serious and concerned. "How are you?"

"How am I?" Dean parroted back with a catch in his voice that easily conveyed his disheartened state. The laugh that followed was anything but mirthful. "Well, I got ditched by you and Sam, NCIS grilled me for four hours like I was the bad guy, I had to tell my client, Mr. Mason that, wow, I got great news. Your son didn't commit suicide, he was murdered."

Cas' heart tightened at Dean's wrecked tone as he ticked off his list. Made him wish that he had been able to be there for his friend and still handle the agency license thing. "How did Mason take the news?"

Dean exhaled. He ran a hand over his face before he answered. "He was too _stunned_ to say much."

'_Dean shouldn't have had to do that alone_,' Cas cursed, knew that, in their business, sometimes getting their clients the answers they sought wasn't the hard part. Telling them those answers was. "You got him the truth, Dean. It's what he wanted. And you put away the men who killed his son."

"_Truth_," Dean bitingly scoffed. "And the truth will make you want to eat a gun," he bitterly modified the old saying.

Dean's words struck Cas hard. Especially since he and Sam were still weighing in on whether or not to tell Dean the truth about how things really went down with John Winchester. Dean _deserved_ to not be lied to…but he didn't deserve the pain that would come with the unvarnished truth, either. Yes, John had signed the renewal and even relinquished the agency to Dean because he loved his son. But he hadn't done it of his own accord, had had to be talked into it. Threatened. No matter how Sam or he set the scene, it wouldn't come off as a bedtime story, '_Course, it's not like John Winchester fits into a bedtime story either….unless we're talking about an unsavory villain…_' Because Cas could still be bitter, still was. Dean deserved better than a father who had to be coerced into not hurting his son.

Shaking off his dark ruminations, Cas asked of Dean, "You at home?"

"Ah, no," Dean admitted, his eyes drifting to the house he stood in front of.

Something about Dean's tone made Cas feel like his nerves were doing a high wire act, without a net. "Where are you, Dean?" he pressed, his hand fisting around the phone because he just knew that, wherever Dean was, he was going to wish his friend wasn't there.

"Outside Miguel Valez's house, about to tell his wife why her husband really died," Dean said, his eyes scanning over the house's boarded up front window. A window where sniper fire had rained down on the innocent maintenance man like a hot zone in Afghanistan a few days ago. '_Because of me. Because I wasn't smart enough to put the pieces together fast enough.'_

Cas' heart sank. He should have seen this coming. "Dean, you don't have to do that. NCIS or the police can talk to her."

"They didn't put the bull's eye on her husband's chest, didn't watch him die," Dean refuted, his mind's eye replaying the last moments of Miguel's life, the red laser on Valez's chest…that soon turned to blood. How still the man was, lying on his living room carpet, while bullets decimated his home.

Feeling powerless in the wake of Dean's despair, Cas roughly spat back, "You might want to remember that you didn't kill him, Dean! Wesfield considered him a threat or he wouldn't have gotten him fired from Kenvert."

Dean shook his head in denial though his friend couldn't see the gesture, had to use his words to make his conviction clear. "My fault he's six feet under instead of being on the unemployment line."

Cas knew that he shouldn't have been surprised Dean was heaping all the collateral damage on his own head, after all, this was Dean Winchester he was talking about. But it didn't make it any easier to hear the guilt in his friend's words. He wanted, needed to place that guilt somewhere, anywhere else but on Dean's shoulders. "Hey, why don't we just blame Mason's dad for wanting answers, for hiring you in the first place," Cas bitterly suggested. His comments were stonewalled with silence. "Fine. Be the martyr. But at least remember to tell Mrs. Valez that you're the guy who put her husband's murderer in jail."

"Yeah, that'll earn me some brownie points," Dean joylessly mocked.

Cas hesitated but he couldn't hold back his offer. "You could wait until I can go with you."

"Why, so you can hold my hand?" Dean caustically shot back.

Cas sighed. Course Dean couldn't accept help. "Wondered when we'ld get to the belligerent stage. Took longer than I thought."

Dean instantly felt ashamed. Cas just wanted to help him, didn't deserve to have his head handed to him for his consideration. "Cas…I'm sorry."

"Not looking for an apology. I would just like it if you would cut yourself a break," Cas quietly returned, hoped his friend would take his advice.

"Soon as I deserve it, I'll get right on that," Dean snapped but then he pressed on before Cas could continue his counseling session. "So you two going to make an appearance today or am I on my own at the bars tonight?"  
>'<em>Yeah, hate to burst your bubble, but you're not drinking tonight, buddy<em>,' Cas internally decided, knew that Dean should be on pain medicine, would be as soon as he was there to make his friend choke some pills down. Saving that row for their face to face time, Cas said aloud, "We'll be back in three hours. Meet you at your house?"

"Might not be home yet. The police snagged Wesfield at the airport sot they want to take my statement too. And they also dragged in some of the gang that shot me. They're hoping I can pick some of their members out in a line up, which I can't. I never saw it coming. So, my dance card's full," Dean quirked.

"Wow. That sounds like a good time," Cas sarcastically drawled. "Alright, well, we'll call you when we're close."

Sensing that Cas was about to hang up, Dean forced himself to say the words that he had been rehearsing all day. "Cas…thank you…for whatever you and Sam are doing, _trying_ to do. But I will be OK without the agency."

"…I…" Cas started to stutter but sighed when he realized that he was talking to dead air. That Dean had said his piece and had ended the call, way before Cas even knew what he _should_ say.

But one thing Cas was sure of, that Dean's claim that he would be fine without the agency had cemented in his head: He and Sam were doing the right thing. Dean _needed_ the agency. That, contrary to Dean's statement, he so wouldn't be OK without it. Proved all over again that the last person on God's green earth he could trust to judge if Dean was truly OK, was Dean himself.

'_Man could be missing a limb and he'ld claimed to be fine,' _Cas groused internally. And if Dean thought he was soon going to be free to make those types of assessments on his own, he had another thing coming.

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It didn't take hearing Dean's side of the conversation for Sam to know how things stood. Fact was, he could be deaf and he would know just by the troubled look on Cas' face. "He's blaming himself for Valez, isn't he?" sadness echoing in his words, at his brother's honorable but self-destructive nature to take the world's weight on his shoulders.

Cas gave a minimal nod but didn't face his companion. He knew that there would be fallout sooner or later. That everything that had happened, Dean would have to deal with in his own way. Even if that way sucked, was to lay the blame on himself, to internalized his own pain, to shut everyone out. It wasn't Cas' first day at the rodeo, after all. More than one…heck, _most_ of their cases were rigged with emotionally shrapnel. People they couldn't save, people that didn't _want_ to be saved, uncovering lies that were kinder than the truth, revelations that were more crippling than healing. They had experienced it all in their years working together.

"Makes me doubt we're doing the right thing," Sam hoarsely confessed, knew that, what he was feeling, it wasn't new, was very old, in fact. He had felt that uncertainty his whole childhood, watching Dean loyally follow in his father's footsteps, seeing Dean being hurt because of it, wanting Dean to be safe, to just walk away….to walk away _with him_. And now Dean was free to live his own life, to be something other than who their father had forced him to be, to be whoever he wanted to be, do whatever occupation he enjoyed. To finally be out of harm's way. '_And all I have to do is rip up the two pages Dad signed_…'

Cas' eyes snapped to Sam, not in objection but surprise. It was almost as if Sam had read his thoughts. Or felt the same turmoil, knew Dean as well as he did. '_But maybe I know Dean even better than Sam does._' Because what Sam was contemplating, it wasn't the answer. "We're doing the right thing," Cas assured, though his brow still creased with worry.

Hearing the conviction in the other man's voice, Sam wondered what Cas knew that he didn't, what made Dean's friend so sure that they weren't heaping more hurt on Dean, that they should risk the possibility that Dean might go and get himself killed on the next case he took. And it would be all their fault. "How do you know that?" Sam intently asked, eyes finding Cas across the Impala's interior, needing more proof.

It wasn't the demand in Sam's tone but the underlying vulnerability that had Cas facing the younger man with a look of gentle sympathy. "I know Dean," pride and regret vying for supremacy in his declaration.

Sam shook his head in frustration before his eyes seared into Cas'. "Well, that's not good enough Cas! We give him back the agency…he could die. You know that, right? We might as well be burying him ourselves. So you tell me why I should risk that, risk losing my brother when I just got him back."

Sam's dark predictions lashed through Cas' soul like a whip. If anyone knew how dangerous Dean's life was as a detective, he did. And for all the times he had negated his own family's implications that his new occupation was a thousand times more dangerous than being an FBI agent, there was some truth in that. He and Dean didn't have other agents ready to swarm in to come to their rescue if a case went sideways, didn't have bullet proof vests and armor plated vehicles, didn't have men of influence to turn the tide when politics were involved.

'_All Dean has…all both of us had was each other_.' And Cas didn't mean just on the job. It had been just them, in everything.

Until now, until Sam showed up, until his grandfather decided that it wasn't beneath him to speak to him.

But that didn't change the fact of how it had been, might be again, regardless of Sam's newfound loyalty and his grandfather's dusted off forgiveness. If it all came down around their heads again, the same would be true. They would be there for each other.

'_And Dean will always do what he can to make the world a better place_. _Not for himself but for everyone else,_' Cas concluded, was a little surprised that Sam didn't know that. With a bit of pride at the revelation, of that connection he shared with Dean and Sam didn't. "Dean wouldn't be Dean if he wasn't out there saving people," he told Sam, a sheepish smile turning up his lips as an old conversation replayed in his head. He knew that Sam saw his expression and was intrigued by it when the younger man gave him a probing look.

Deciding that, if Dean refused to show his brother who he really was, it was his job to, Cas began to dust off the past. "When my path crossed with your brother's, Dean was protecting a young kid that was fleeing a federal warrant." He met Sam's eyes, wanted the younger Winchester to grasp his full meaning. "My partner and I were ordered to take the kid into custody and we had carte blanche to use _any_ measures we deemed necessary."

At the implications, Sam's eyebrows rose until they were hidden by his bangs. "You mean kill Dean?" because he knew he had to be misinterpreting Cas' words. After all, this was the FBI they were talking about, was _Cas_! The guy who would rather die than see harm come to Dean.

Shame colored Cas' cheeks. "When he proved too much of an adversity, stood between what my agency wanted, yes, I was instructed to kill him…" Venomously he spit out the next words, "... for _national security."_

"National security? The US's national security?" Sam incredulously pressed, couldn't believe what he was hearing, that his own government would play assassin, on one of its own citizens, no less.

Feeling as if Sam's condemnation was directed at him personally, Cas huskily explained, "The stakes, they were high. Lives…they said many lives were in jeopardy. And my bosses told me…" Cas rubbed his hand over his mouth, couldn't believe how gullible he had been, how far off track he almost went. ".. I thought…taking one life, two, was worth it, if it saved hundreds of other lives."

"And the life you were supposed to take was Dean's," Sam surmised, voice tight with emotions, stirred by that cold calculation, that someone would callously decide to end his brother's life for some delusional notion that it was for the greater good. And they hadn't cared that Dean was loved, was needed. (Even when his foolish little brother couldn't choke down his pride and call and tell him that.)

"Not just Dean's. Our orders changed. We were supposed to neutralize the kid that Dean was protecting. Permanently," Cas pointed out, needed Sam to know that crucial piece of the puzzle.

Then it all came together, made sense to Sam. He knew why Dean had risked everything, had really graced the FBIs hit list.. "But Dean wasn't going to let that happen, let you kill someone he swore to protect."

A haunted look overcame Cas' features. "Not if I let him live."

And it came back to him, that moment when everything had changed, when the foundations that he had built his career, his life on had crumbled…only to be made new again.

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Cas had killed in the line of duty before, yes. But not like this. Not execution style. Not with his target's cold green eyes boring into his over the barrel of his gun. Eyes that sparkled with defiance, fury and _life_. And the man's words, they weren't pleas for his life, were something far worse: unshakeable convictions, bold challenges, hurled condemnations and stark truths.

"Just do it already! Kill me. But that kid…he doesn't deserve this. He's not evil, he's brilliant! He did what he did because he could, not because he was hatching some takeover of the friggin' government. Wanted to release what he stumbled on to the news networks because the people deserved to know the truth, that the people in power, the people we trust, they're selling us out…all to get rich. Can't you see that?"

Though the sight of his gun didn't shift from its mark on the other man's chest, Cas consciously, almost uneasily tightened his grip on his weapon, tried to shut out the man's words, to dispute them. "That 'kid' was going to divulge national secrets…."

"Of greed, of corruption, of coverups," his target spat.

"You have no idea of the inner workings of our system of justice, how many factors go into a decision, the alliances that have to be made so we can achieve even the smallest measure of security, can keep the power in the hands of the right people."

"Right people?," Winchester had scoffed, had given him almost a patronizing smile. "You poor, stupid, chump. Don't give me that patriotic song and dance. It's all a bunch of lies. It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and to keep you in line. You know what's real? People. Families. Soldiers that give up their lives for our country's true "security", not the hocus pocus crap the politician provide. Those are the real people, the ones you owe your loyalty to. And you're going to sell them out."

Fury singed through Cas, had him grabbing the other man by the jacket, jerking him closer, hissing in his face, "I'm not selling anyone out! I'm doing this for them!"

But the man didn't tremble in his grip. Instead, he smirked. "What? Murdering a kid who can't even legally drink yet? Why, because he saw figures that _never_ appear on any politicians tax return? That worth his life? That worth your _soul_? To cover up some creative accounting, some underhanded mergers, some back room deals that have more to do with lining their pockets than national security, than the good of the many."

Cas' grip, his conviction faltered, was being bombarded by too many things he couldn't deny, had seen …and pretended he hadn't.

Winchester didn't relent, pressed him harder, made him feel as if he were the one backed into the corner, vulnerable, unarmed. "So you can take your version of National Security and shove it where the sun don't shine. This is simple, _Agent _Angelo. No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here and you know it. You know it!"

Shoving Winchester backwards, out of his grip, Cas paced a step back, ran a hand through his hair. His thoughts a jumble of agreements and arguments, of doubts and convictions.

Resolutely, Dean stepped toward him, met his eyes head on. "You know this is wrong. That that kid doesn't deserve to die, not for this. Help me save him. Please."

Cas was stunned that the man was pleading with him, not for his own life but for the life of a twenty year old computer genius, a kid that had broken the law, yes. But that didn't mean he deserved to die for that transgression. "If I do this, help you, save him…we'll all be hunted, we might all be killed."

Conviction, not judgment gleamed in the other man's eyes. "If there is anything worth dying for, this is it. Saving an innocent boy's life. Not because it's your job,but because it's the right thing to do."

When Cas lowered his gun, Dean Winchester had the audacity to smile at his almost murderer.

"I knew you weren't like your partner."

Cas frowned, Uriel was a well respected agent even among the other field offices. It didn't bode well, the comparison the detective was making. "And what? What am I? Suicidal? Gullible? _Weak_?"

Dean's smile turned even more genuine. "One of the good guys," he proudly announced before he gave Cas a pat on the chest and started for the door. "We gotta hurry up or your partner will run the kid to ground before we do."

As the pieces came together, Cas numbly said, "You were the decoy….The kid was here…close. You told him to run when you heard us coming. You set yourself up as the decoy knowing that I …that Uriel and I might kill you to get you out of the way."

Dean shrugged. "Sounded like a good plan at the time," and then he was stalking out the door, was trustingly turning his back on the man who had planned on putting a bullet in his chest a few seconds ago. Was determined to put himself between a bullet and some kid that probably didn't have enough cash to pay his daily detective rate.

Cas shook his head, hadn't seen this turn of events coming but was soon following the other man's lead out the door. He couldn't help but grumble, "For the record, your plan…it sucked." But even so, respect surged through him for his new ally. And he wasn't exactly sure who he was more concerned about protecting from Uriel's deadly aim: the kid or Dean Winchester.

That acknowledgment? It would take a little while longer to sink in. But when it did, it would leak irrevocably into his soul and take up residence there.

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Sam snapped his fingers in front of Cas' face to try and bring the man back to planet earth. "You meditating or what?"

"What?" Cas said, coming back to the here and now, finding himself under Sam Winchester's sharp scrutiny.

"You zoned out. Said Dean wasn't going to let you kill the kid and then you…" Then Sam's hand drifted to the ceiling of the car, his fingers fluttering.

Cas shrugged, suddenly knew that he wasn't willing to divulge all that to Sam, that what had happened, it was personal, between him and Dean. Was Dean's to tell, if he wanted to. Releasing a breath, he summarized, "Then I got swayed by your brother to open my eyes, see what was really going on. And he told me that there was a right and there was a wrong and I knew it, that saving some innocent kid's life, it was worth his life, was worth dying for."

Sam bit his lip at Cas' words, at the quote he knew was his brother's. That Dean believed that. Then and now. That saving people, it was worth dying for. That Dean would always do what he could to help people, with or without a detective license, or a badge, or justice on his side. "Meaning…we're not going to change him. That he won't be happy unless he's helping someone That the best thing we can do for him…"

"…is to have his back," Cas finished, knew by Sam's reluctant but earnest nod that Dean's kid brother understood and agreed, even if he didn't want to. "And being able to keep him from not getting thrown in jail for carrying a concealed weapon, tramping all over a crime scene and generally pissing off the cops would be awesome. So the detective license, it's not just an accessory."

"So, I guess I'll be applying for one of my own," Sam smirked, coming to terms with Dean's place and his place in Dean's world. "Maybe you can teach me some FBI fighting techniques. Go a few rounds on the mat."

"Sure," Cas agreed before his smile turned devious, "soon as you beat Dean, you can move up out of the Pee Wee league."

Instead of wearing a look of effrontery, Sam laughed. "Oh, I can't wait to tell Dean that you think his fighting skills are Pee Wee league."

Cas' head snapped to Sam in alarm. "What? No! That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"I can just see that match up now: Pee Wee verses Frisbee. Winner takes all." He gave Cas an evil smile and amended, "Or should I say winner lives to tell the tale."

"No, you're misinterpreting things….Sam! Sam, don't even think…" Cas stammered out his threats.

"Oh, I'm not thinking, I'm doing," Sam reassured his traveling companion.

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Giving a shake of his head at the boarded up exterior of Winchester Investigations, Dean pushed through the door and came to a halt. The carnage was no better than when he had been there with Cas but somehow it struck him harder, now that he was alone. Like someone had waged a last stand..

'_And lost_,' he bitterly concluded. But it wasn't about a bullet almost taking his life, was about the lie his life had been, and that one bullet, well, a crapload of bullets had shattered that delusion. The delusion that, though his father wasn't around, that didn't mean John didn't care, wouldn't come and save him if he needed saving. But his Dad didn't, wouldn't, hadn't. Had _called_, sure, but only after Dean had called him. And then his father had reacted with anger, not concern. Judgment not correction. Disgust where relief, compassion should have been.

And if that was all of it, it would hurtful enough. But it wasn't the worst of it. The worst was John was going to stay away, was willingly, consciously, callously taking away the only thing Dean was truly good at. And in the process, he was taking Cas away from him, and Sam, all over again.

'_Because if I don't have the agency….'_ Dean morosely thought, knew that then there was no reason for Cas or his brother to stick around. There would be no cases to solve, foes to fight, no need for him to have someone stand by his side, watch his back. He would be alone, like when Sam left and before Cas came into his life and decided he liked him alive more than he wanted him dead. Because the truth was, his father had left him behind more times than he had ever been with him.

Crossing over, not to his desk, but to his father's, Dean wasn't surprised that the desk didn't even have a paper clip on it. Squared-Away-Marine, that was his Dad. But the symbolism suddenly said more, that John didn't leave any part of himself behind, didn't freely give it out, was closed off, shut down, cared about one thing and only one thing.

Reaching out, Dean opened his father's top drawer, and his breath caught, felt something between comfort and pain. Because the picture, it was there, staring up at him. And she was beautiful, had a light in her eyes, _love._ For the person that took the picture. For the man that she had married, for the man that was the father of her two sons.

With a hand that shouldn't be shaking, Dean picked up the picture like it was a treasure that might crumble in his grasp. For all the times he had seen this picture, John never left it behind when he searched for Mary Winchester's killer. Kept it with him, in tribute, in memorial, a part of her with him. But this time, he had left her behind, had forgotten that _she_ was the point of his actions, that he wanted someone to pay for taking _her_ away from him…from them.

At least Dean had thought that was his father's motives, wanted to believe that his father's obsession had its bases in love…not revenge. That his father needed some way to fill the incalculable loss of his wife in his heart and soul. But now, John had left her behind as surely as he left his son. His _sons_, Dean corrected, because, though Sam was the one that had walked out the door, it was John who said don't come back.

Reverently slipping the picture of his mother in his pocket, Dean walked away from his father's desk, headed to the safe he had in the back room. There were only a few things he needed from the office, from the life that would no longer be his by five o'clock the next day. And one of those things was in his pocket and the other was in the safe.

But as he entered the safe's combination and swung the door open, Dean cursed. His father had gotten there first, had taken the cash they kept on hand for operations, the two Certificate of Deposits Dean thought they were keeping for a rainy day and the necklace that had once been his mother's. All gone. All squandered away on his father's obsession for revenge.

Kicking the safe door, Dean ran a hand over his mouth as he paced away. Any future they had, any future _he_ had, his father had taken away, as surely as the man that had murdered his mother had taken her future away. All John was leaving him with was a picture of a woman he missed every day of his life, a career that was ending, an agency he couldn't keep, a building he didn't own so he couldn't sell, and debts he couldn't pay.

"I shoulda let Ersman kill me," he spat, violently swiping his hand across the files that littered his desk, scattering them across the floor. Suddenly, Ersman's words came back to him, cut into him deeper now that he knew how truth they were.

'_Like you'ld never hate your father more than you love him?"_

"_For the man that caused the end of my career, of everything I was proud of…there isn't enough loyalty …or stupidity in me to forgive that." _

And in that moment, John Winchester was not his dad, was just the man that was taking away everything from him. Had never been the dad that he kept tucked away in his head, leftover memories from when he was four, when he had a Mom. When he had a dad that said his name with such love, who swept him up into his arms and held him tight as if he were precious to him. A dad who hated to put him to bed because it ended their time together for the day.

A dad who loved him, found him _worthy_ of love.

Exhaling a shaky breath, Dean snorted, said to the empty office, "Guess we both changed."

Honestly, Dean wasn't sure who he was more angry at: his father for changing or himself for not reading the writing on the wall, for clinging to his four year old impression of his dad. For believing the lie, for wanting to continue to believe the lie, no matter how many times his father failed him, broke his heart.

He had done everything his father had ever asked him to, had stayed when Sam had left, had forgiven what no other son would, and where had it gotten him? '_Here_,' Dean painfully admitted, eyes scanning the wreckage, knew that his soul was more ravaged than the office. '_Alone_.' And that was the thing he wanted least of all. To be left alone. To be without a home. To not have a family. His family. Mom, Dad, Sam…Cas.

He had clung so desperately to them all…only to lose every single one of them.

'_Maybe I was never worthy to have them in the first place_…'

And the agency, his detective license? Yes, he had saved people. But he had failed a whole lot more. Miguel Valez's wife could attest to that.

It was time to say '_enough_'. To walk away, to stop believing the lies. To accept the new life that was his.

Snatching his framed detective license off the wall, he threw it across the room to crash against the boards that had once been windows and stalked for the door, was going to hit the first bar he came to and get intimate with a bottle of Jack Daniels. Was finally going to stop fighting the inevitable, was going to be like his dear old dad.

But then the agency door swung open and Cas and Sam walked right into his path.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for those generous reviews for the previous chapter! I also want to say I love seeing those awesome favorite tags you guys have been kind enough to bestow on this story and the people who have put this on their story alerts! All is so much valued and appreciated! I always tuck each of them away like the treasures they are.

Special thanks to Silvermoondemon16 who asked to know how Cas & Dean had met and got me thinking of a way to slip some of their prior history into this chapter.

Well, one more chapter to go. Really. I mean it this time. And it's ready to go so my plan is to post it before this Friday.

Have a great evening!

Cheryl W.


	19. Chapter 19: We Never Broke Up

A Call to Arms

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: _**Please don't be fooled by this chapter's title. It is NOT referring to a reconciliation between Sam and Jess. **_I'm crossing my fingers that you enjoy this tale's ending…

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Chapter 19: We Never Broke Up

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Caught off guard by their sudden appearance, Dean took a step back, joked, "Thought you were going to call me when you were close," trying to mask his despair, hoping they didn't have a clue where he had been heading, how low he was about to sink.

But Cas' eyes narrowed and Dean knew, _knew_ that he wasn't fooling Cas. He barely ever could. So he turned away, kicked at the files on the floor that his rage had put there and sneered, "Was going to see if there was anything I should take before they marked it 'this property is condemned' but there's not much worth salvaging." In the office or in his life.

Suddenly Cas knew that he had given Dean too much time alone, that his friend had gone all morose, had heaped everything, all the things that had gone wrong on his own head. That Dean's words, they weren't about the office alone. Stepping forward, he snagged Dean's arm and spun his friend around to look at him. His breath caught at what he saw in Dean's eyes before Dean dropped them to the floor.

Though he and Sam had decided that Sam would tell Dean the good news about the agency license, Cas almost blurted it out, ached to do something, anything to wipe away the hurt in his friend's eyes. He was still forming words when a male voice spoke from behind him, caused Dean's eyes to snap up and look over his shoulder at their visitor.

"Hello, I don't mean to intrude…." Harry Mason's father greeted, halting half way in the doorway when he sensed the heightened emotions in the room.

Turning around, Sam stepped menacingly toward the unknown man. Didn't know who he was but Sam had read the dread in Dean's face before his brother schooled his features. Whoever this guy was, Dean didn't want to talk to him. And Sam was going to see to it that he went packing. "Sorry, this isn't a good time…" he began, eyes brimming with a warning in case the man couldn't take the hint.

"No, it's alright," Dean allowed, breaking Cas' hold and stepping around his friend and Sam to extend his hand to his client, though he didn't know if the man would even do him that courtesy, wondered what he would do in his place.

But Mr. Mason shook Dean's hand without hesitation. "I wanted to talk to you…" the man said quietly, tagged on a little scatterbrained, "…oh and pay you." And he pulled a check out of his pocket, held it out to Dean, who made no move to take it.

Stepping forward, Cas liberated their client of his check, gave Mason an assessing look. Determined that Mason didn't mean any malice toward Dean, he turned around, snagged Sam's arm and tugged him along with him to the other end of the office.

Left standing alone with Mason, Dean diffidently began with, "You didn't have to do that…" Pay him, come there to do it in person. Somehow Mason understood his meaning.

"Yes, I did. You did what I asked you to do," Mason countered, settled a sad but grateful look upon Dean.

Dean cleared his throat but his sympathy, his regret were still evident in his voice when he spoke, "I…I wish I could have done more." Silently he quantified, '_Saved someone, one last time_.'

Some of the sorrow lifted in Mason's expression as he tenderly contradicted, "You did. You put the people in jail who killed my son." Then his emotions swung the other way. His eyes welled and his jaw clenched a few times before he had himself back under control, could manage words again. "I know you warned me that…." He swallowed, exhaled, fortified himself for what came next. "That no matter what you found out, it wouldn't bring Harry back. But you found out the truth, restored my faith in my relationship with my son, gave him back his honor. And that's…" he smiled a watery smile, "that's a whole lot in my book." Then, without warning, he stepped forward, hugged Dean, hard.

Too stunned to react, Dean didn't have time to return the comforting gesture before he was released. Found himself watching Mason's departure, managed a "You're welcome, sir," before his final client was gone. Out of his life as quickly as he had entered it.

Sensing movement, Dean looked to his right to find that Cas was suddenly there, like the man had been biding his time to claim that spot. "You Ok?" his friend asked and Dean could tell by the set of Cas' jaw that Cas probably wouldn't accept anything less than the truth.

"Guy just _hugged_ me for proving his son was murdered," Dean hoarsely stated, his confusion and raw emotions painfully exposed.

With sympathy shining in his eyes, Cas quietly clarified, "You gave him the truth. And justice for his son, Dean."

A sad mocking smile turned up Dean's lips as he faced Cas. "Guess he thought it was better that his son didn't _choose_ to leave him, instead was taken away from him." And there was a message in there, one that life had been trying to teach Dean his whole life and he was only now getting. That people left other people for a reason. Everyone knew that, everyone but him.

Not liking the personal implications Dean seemed to be taking from that revelation, Sam stepped forward, needed Dean to know that he hadn't gone anywhere, that he wasn't going to go anywhere, not this time. That he was going to make up for the mistakes of his past, starting right then.

Shaking off his outward despondency, Dean faced his audience and pulled on a smile. "So you two are finally back from your bender. Any new tattoos to boast?"

"Yeah, but none you'll see," Cas parried with an evil grin.

"Thank God," Dean drawled, rolling his eyes, didn't miss Cas' nudge to Sam with his elbow.

Raising his eyebrows in inquiry, Dean faced his brother and waited for whatever announcement Cas was prompting Sam to make.

Sam shifted nervously on his feet even as he reached into his coat pocket. "So the other day…Dad called…Cas," Sam began, quickly implicating Cas into his lie. "And …he wanted to make sure you got this," he finished, holding out a folded piece of paper to his brother.

At his brother's words, Dean's eyes flew up from the paper to Sam. But Dean remained speechless, immobile. '_It can't be_…' he cautioned himself. He really couldn't deal with another disappointment.

Afraid that Dean's inaction meant rejection, Sam quickly unfolded the paper, held it up for Dean's inspection. "Dad signed the renewal. Your detective license isn't in jeopardy anymore."

Dean finally blinked. Then slowly he reached out, took the legal document from Sam's hand, saw his father's unmistakable Yoda-like scrawl at the bottom. He ran his fingers over the ink as if he needed to feel it to know it was real.

Sharing a worried look with Cas, Sam bit his lip, didn't know if he had helped his brother or hurt him. Not until Dean looked up at him with awe.

"How?" Dean stammered, was still trying to come to terms with the pardon he was getting.

"Like I said, Dad called…." Sam began but Dean stopped him, but not unkindly.

"I know my dad better than anyone. You don't have to lie to protect me, Sam," Dean announced, but there was affection in his gaze as it rested on his baby brother. He knew what it cost Sam to put their father on a pedestal, to give John credit, especially when it wasn't his to take.

Sam blushed because it was all for Dean, to protect Dean, to make sure his big brother's vulnerable heart didn't sustain another crack. But putting a lie on top of a lie, he couldn't do that, Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he hoarsely told Dean the part of the truth that was worth telling. "He signed it because he loves you, Dean." Then his lips twisted into a sardonic half smile. "Well, in his own twisted, Marine, neglecting, obsessive way."

A protest seemed to build in Dean before he ended up giving a bittersweet nod. His smirk was almost painful and his words were a little more thready, more serious than he intended them to be, "But Dad, he's still alive? You didn't bury him in some farm's back-forty?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam vaguely replied, eye skittering away from his brother's inspection.

At his little brother's less than reassuring response, Dean drawled in warning, "Sam…." Because he had years of experience watching how his father and little brother interacted: badly. And that was before Sam left for college and John told his son that he wouldn't have a home to come back to. Now with that between them, them facing off without a referee, without him standing between them…

Instantly Dean started assessing _Sam_ for injuries. "What did he say to you?" he growled, his protective instincts for his brother blinding him from focusing on anything else. "Sam, you know he…"

"I didn't even hit him," Sam cut across his brother's words, slowly raised his eyes to meet Dean's worried gaze. He gave a small heartbreaking smile to Dean, for his big brother who always sought to protect him, even when Dean was the one who needed safeguarded.

Wanting to take a sledge hammer to the tension in the room, that John friggin' Winchester put between his sons even when he wasn't there, Cas muttered with put upon indignation, "Yeah, because I _stopped_ you from hitting him."

Sam opened his mouth in outraged astonishment as he turned on Cas. "Don't act all pacifistic! You were gonna rip his head off and I stopped you."

Cas calmly refuted, "Was not. I keep control of my emotions, learned that…"

"From what? Quantico?" Sam sharply asked.  
>Cas smirked at the very idea before he denial with playful ridicule, "Nnnnnooo." Then he jerked his head toward Dean. "I learned that from hanging around Dean. You know how many people I would have to hit otherwise. He sets people off like other people blink. This one time…." he began, laughing as a gleam came into his eyes at the memory and watching Sam salivate to get some dirt on his brother.<p>

"Guys, can we just focus for a moment," Dean growled, didn't know when he had become a nanny for two kids.

Though Cas fell silent, he mouthed to Sam, "I'll tell you later," with a wink. Then, like he was the most angelic student in Mr Winchester's class, he gave Dean his rapt attention. Only to have Sam elbow him.

Garnering Cas' long-suffering gaze, Sam gave Cas the bug eyed look but when that only caused Cas to tilt his head in confusion, Sam verbalized, "Give him the other thing."

Almost nervously, Cas protested, "Maybe you should be the one…"

Sam gave Cas a tender, encouraging smile. The idiot had done all this for Dean and now he was too shy to own up to it. "No, you should," he earnestly replied, jerking his head toward Dean.

Pulling the form from his pocket, the one assigning Dean sole proprietorship of the detective agency, Cas hesitated. Suddenly he worried that Dean would misinterpret it, would think it signified his father's wish to cut all ties with him, another version of 'if you're going than stay gone' like John had told Sam. And he couldn't let Dean think that, not for a moment, had to take the blame on his own shoulders, "This was my idea, not your father's," he preceded before he held out the document to Dean, hoped Dean was ready for it.

Surprised and a bit confused by Cas' possessive, if truthful claim on his inspiration to transfer the agency to Dean, Sam's breath held as Dean's eyes scanned over the document. Didn't have to look to Cas to know the other man was just as tense as he was, feared that, though their intentions had been good, it might turn out all wrong.

Dean's eyes widened as the intent of the document sank in and his eyes snapped up to Cas. "Why? How did you…And Dad's not dead, right? Not in a coma?"

"Alive and well," Cas reassured, though a little grim, like a part of him besmirched the man that right.

Sam gently supplied, pride in his tone for his brother, "Dad knows you've helped more people than he ever could." '_Would,_' he qualified to himself. The next second he was saddened but not surprised when Dean's eyes held denial, that his brother couldn't take the praise and accept it as truth.

"That's not true. And it's _his_ agency…" Dean disputed, knew the hours his father had put into the business, the blood, sweat, tears it had taken before the agency got the reputation it now had.

Quietly, reverently, Cas announced, "And now it's yours." He knew it was worth all the bother when he saw the little boy wonder that seeped over Dean's features as his friend's eyes dropped again to the paper in his hands, like he couldn't believe it was real, hadn't turned to ash the moment he touched it. "Only catch is…. it comes with two staff members," Cas warned, loved that Dean's head snapped up almost supernaturally fast. With Dean's rapt attention on him, he nodded toward Sam, in case Dean didn't know who his two lucky, crazy staff members would be.

Eyes widening in shock at Cas' inference, Dean turned to Sam. "Sam, you don't…."

"…have to," Sam finished Dean's statement with a wide smile. "I know. But I want to."

Dean stepped closer to Sam, resisted the urge to lay hands on his brother, make him see reason. "Your law school, Jessica, your _life_ is in California."

But Sam shook his head, refuted, his eyes holding his brother's. "No, it's not. It's right where I left it….four years ago."

Dean knew what Sam was doing, why he was doing it and he didn't need that type of sacrifice from his brother. More than anything he wanted for himself, he wanted Sam to be happy. "I don't need this from you, Sammy. We can stay in touch, do better with talking things through."

"Yeah, we will," Sam vowed. "Because I'm bunking with you for a while, until I can find my own place. And if you'll have me, I'll be at the agency, play copy boy, geekboy, main researcher, whatever you need."

It was Dean's fondest dream but one he couldn't have, shouldn't have. Not if it meant Sam gave up his own dreams. "You're on your way to being a lawyer, Sam. Of having…."

"…everything I want?" Sam repeated Jessica's words with a shadow of a smile, knew that he had lied to the people closest to him and to himself. Knew that he had lied way too long when Dean gave a forlorn nod. "Nope. Sorry, Dean, you're stuck with me. Like Don Henley of the Eagles said, '_For the record, we never broke up; we just took a fourteen-year vacation_.'"

Dean couldn't hold back his smile. "It was Glenn Fry that said that," he corrected but he was already pulling Sam into a hug. And Sam readily went, had been wanting this moment since he had come back to Kansas, heck, since he had hit the door for Stanford.

"Well then I hate vacations," Dean muttered.

"Yeah, me too," Sam agreed wholeheartedly, his words muffled because he had buried himself in his brother's shoulder, was clinging so tightly to Dean he was waiting for his brother's moan of pain. When Dean pulled back, he had to let him go.

Releasing Sam, Dean turned his attention to Cas and his eyes clouded over with emotion. "I'm going to come off sounding like your family but…My father got me in this life when I was so young that I can't walk away, don't know how to do anything else but Cas, you shouldn't waste your talents here. The sky's the limit with your skills and background and with your family's connections…" Dean swallowed hard, knew he had to release Cas, that his friend was too honorable, too loyal to walk away from him on his own. "You've gone to the mat for me every single time. You've sacrificed enough for me, Cas," his raw emotions laid bare as he willingly let his best friend go, the man who had stood by him when no one else would, when his family had abandoned him, when he had felt like giving up, giving in.

Cas wasn't sure if he wanted to slug Dean…or hug the jerk. "Wow, you're the boss for all of two minutes and you already think you can order me around." Turning around, he pointed to John's desk. "I got dibs on your old man's desk."

"Cas," Dean implored, didn't want this brushed under the carpet, for Cas to not take things seriously, take his future, his own happiness seriously.

Dean's imploring call of his name had Cas sighing and turning around to face his friend. "Fine. You need me to spell it out. I thought the FBI was where I belonged. It sure was where my family thought I belonged and I believed that lie. Until some stubborn private detective dared to challenge my loyalties, made me decide for myself what was right and what was wrong."

"Cas I…" Dean began to apologize, knew that he was the one to derail Cas' future.

But Cas held up his hand, stopped his friend's misguided apology. "What you taught me, what you believe, the way you live your life, trying with your last breath to save everyone, it's a hard act to follow."

"Cas, I'm ….I'm screwed up….lost most of the time," Dean stammered, couldn't stand to hear compliments when he knew he deserved condemnations.

Cas unleashed a toothy smile and conceded, "Yeah, maybe. But that doesn't change anything. I've trusted you for four years. Now you have to trust me. I think I deserve that much from you."

"You do. I do.." Dean readily agreed. He would follow Cas into a burning building.

"Well, then trust me when I say, I'm right where I should be, want to be," Cas declared, watched the awe, relief, gratitude and friendship flicker in Dean's eyes. "Besides, you need me," he shrugged as if that solved it all. "Especially with the kamikaze plans you're always come up with."

Appreciating Cas' flawless switch to lightheartedness, Dean played along. "Now that I'm boss, we have to get one thing straight: My plans are _awesome_."

"Even when they aren't," Cas mumbled, shooting a wink to Sam before he smirked at Dean. "But don't worry, I'll run in and save you like I always do."

Dean smiled. "I know you will," he earnestly acknowledged before he engulfed Cas in a bear hug. "Don't ever change Cas," he huskily bade. Didn't want Cas to change to please his family and especially not for him. He had done that himself, traveled that path, he didn't wish it on his best friend.

"Ah, ok," Cas stammered with confusion, having no desire to change, not when who he was, the latest choices he had made had brought him so much happiness. Oh, and grey hairs, wrinkles, heart palpitations…

Releasing Cas, Dean hopped up to take a seat on John's desktop. "But this desk…is mine," he claimed. "That's yours," he stated, pointing to his old desk that was a teeny bit worse for the wear. "It's got a great view. Well, it will once we get windows again."

"A great view. Yeah, right? For snipers and gang members to take a potshot at me," Cas snarked back.. "No, I say our new associate has that desk," he suggested, jerking his head toward Sam, whose expression was a mix of happiness for being accepted into the fold so quickly and an objection to being assigned the proven kill zone in the office.

"Fine, we can always do rock-paper-scissor for it," Sam suggested, trying to be the bigger man.

Cas was contemplating that notion when Dean mumbled under his breath, "Sam cheats."

"How do you cheat at rock-paper-scissor?" Cas dubiously asked.

"Ask him?" Dean exclaimed, pointing a finger a Sam, who didn't even have the good grace to not give a smug smile.

"Dean, I can't help you always pick paper," Sam laughingly defended.

Catching Cas' smirk, Dean irately demanded, "What?"

"He's right," Cas admitted, a sparkle in his eyes as they landed on Dean. "It's always paper with you."

"So this is how it's gonna be, you two ganging up on me?" Dean challenged, focus switching from Cas to Sam and back again.

Meeting each other's gaze, Sam and Cas purposely declared together, "Yes."

"Great," Dean muttered. "Maybe your grandfather can find me a new job, Cas. Or I think I have a chance working with NCIS.

"Dean, Gabriel told me they didn't let you go after they questioned you, they escorted you _bodily _from the building," Cas countered, had just laughed when his cousin had imparted that tidbit to him.

Dean couldn't help but smirk. Actually, he was proud of that fact.

"So there's also the matter of the shotgun seat in the Impala…" Cas began as he faced Sam, let the kid know that he was going to have to fight tooth and nail to get a claim on the spots in Dean's life that had been his alone for so long.

"I'll race you around the block for it," Sam offered almost innocently.

"Yeah, right. I have cracked ribs and bruises and…." Cas stopped his litany when he saw Sam's devious smile.

"I know," Sam brashly admitted.

Cas' smile grew slowly but the wattage was awe inspiring. If Sam was willing to do what he himself had done to prove his place at Dean's side, to take a pick and axe to Dean's wall until Dean let him in, do whatever he could, as long as it took, to earn Dean's trust, then he knew that everything was going to be alright.

"I'll take my chances with paper-rock-scissors… for the desk," Cas allowed, wasn't going to risk getting hoodwinked so easily for the shotgun seat.

"Well, since you boys are playing so nicely together, I'm going to go get a drink…" Dean stated, started to head for the door but he was instantly flanked by his brother and friend.

"Ah, no. You're taking medication…" Cas contested, casting Dean a reprimanding look.

"No. No, I'm not," Dean denied but Sam was suddenly dangling a prescription bottle in his face.

"Yeah, Dean. You are," Sam sternly pointed out, because Dean was going to take his pills like a good little boy or else he and Cas were going to give him a demonstration of just how well they could double team him.

Exasperated, Dean grabbed the bottle from Sam's hand, mostly to get it out of his face. "I don't take orders from you, Sam," Dean petulantly snapped.

Sam was about to give a stinging retort when Cas gave a negative shake of his head from Dean's other side. And Cas's lazy Cheshire cat smile boasted that he knew how to handle one stubborn, mule headed Dean Winchester.

"Sam, you're gonna love hearing about this case where we had to take this little plane ride…" Cas began, couldn't temper his smile when Dean glared at him. He down right gloated when Dean, with a defeated curse, promptly opened the persecution bottle and swallowed down a pill. "…. some other time.." Cas finished, let Dean know that he was ready and willing to play that blackmail card, just not yet.

Watching the unpredictable exchange between his brother and Cas, Sam almost spoke but didn't. He didn't have to know the details of their give-and-take to understand them. After all, he knew first hand that love, loyalty and brotherhood had a language all of its own.

Agitatedly stalking out of his agency door, Dean wondered if he knew what he was in for, running the business, being responsible for two people's lives on the job, trying to deal with Cas and Sam mothering tendencies. It was going to be….

'_Great,_' Dean concluded, hoped he hid his smile from his two already smug companions.

He put on a long suffering sigh as he stopped in front of the Impala, gave a hairy eyeball to Sam, who had used his long legs to slip past him and now had the _passenger_ door of _his_ car open like he was his personal doorman.

"I can start the plane story from the top…" a voice said behind him and he shot a glare over his shoulder at his smirking best friend. Knowing when he was beat, he sank into the passenger seat, found that he wasn't even to be allowed to close the door himself.

"Control freaks, both of them," he muttered under his breath. Then, reaching a hand out, he caressed his baby's dashboard, felt something in him shift, change, ease. And when his two traveling companions joined him in the car, he finally identified the feeling: contentment.

So maybe getting shot hadn't been the most auspicious starting point for a life changing event, but it was turning out to be one of the best things that had ever happened to him. Because through it all, yes, his father had proven his true colors…but so had Cas and Sam.

It was Cas who had been the first person he saw when he woke up in the hospital. It was his best friend who, though he objected to his plan, about _carried_ his weak, wounded, nearly useless carcass to his house.

And it was Sam that came rushing home to him. To see him, to protect him, to save him.

Suddenly the words that his mother used to tell him as she tucked him into bed no longer seemed a lie. She had said that angels were watching over him. And maybe they were. Maybe they came in the guise of little brothers and best friends. Like his did.

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"So about this case with the plane ride…" Sam began to prod, shooting a scheming smile his brother's way.

"Cas, shut up," Dean lobbed to the backseat even before Cas could draw breath.

But Cas was undiscouraged. "Fine. I have other stories." Reveling in the glare Dean sent to him in the rearview mirror, he posed to his newest family member, "Sam, did you know that your big bad brother's afraid of rats?"

"I'm not afraid of them! I just don't _like_ them," Dean heatedly refuted, to which Cas immediately began to wage his counter attack of proof.

Shrewdly keeping out of the fray, Sam didn't interrupt the bickering but he couldn't hold back a smile. It was great to have a family again.

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THE END

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I want to send out much love to all my generous reviewers! Without your kindness and direction, this story would have remained yet another unfinished tale on my computer. And thanks to everyone who spent time with this story, for letting me entice you into reading another one of my 'out there' AU plotlines.

It's been an awesome ride! And who knows, the Winchester Investigations gang may make another appearance down the road. Goodness knows, they aren't going to stay out of trouble….

Have a wonderful day!

Cheryl W.


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